Magic Inspector
by hbrooks01
Summary: Holy shit. Magic was real. And somehow, Stiles ended up being the Inspector for Beacon Hills, a powerful nexus of magic that attracted all sorts of craziness.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: So, I liked reading about Stiles with magic, and thus I wanted to write work in which Stiles has that. I have about three chapters down. I'm not going to keep this in perfect concordance with canon, but I'm starting at the beginning of season one and adding a lot of Stiles and Derek. I'll add more tags as more characters make appearances and more tags as they are needed.

I'm not a great erotica writer, but I plan on throwing some in here at some point.

* * *

Stiles fidgeted on the couch, energy buzzing through him, like he'd had copious amounts of energy drinks. That was the problem: he hadn't had any energy drinks. His dad had thrown him in the house before running back to the station—with strict instructions not to leave. Well, that blows. He ran up the stairs to his bedroom.

With all the extra energy, and his next scheduled dose of adderall not due until the morning, he couldn't focus on his homework. Couldn't even focus on playing video games or watching a movie—for once. His ADHD hadn't been this bad for years. It completely felt like he had never taken any medication at all.

Working on the computer was proving to be equally impossible. He rose off his desk chair and paced around the room. He tried texting Scott, but his best friend didn't text back. He gave up after three attempts and flopped onto his bed. Still, he couldn't help be sit up a minute later.

Stiles walked downstairs and rummaged around the refrigerator, looking for something to eat, but nothing looked appetizing. After looking for the other half of the dead body last night, and the weird encounter with Derek Hale in the woods this afternoon, the sound behind him caused him to whirl around. Some old guy, total creeper status, leaned against the counter.

"Mr. Stilinski," Creeper said. His bald pate dully reflected the low lighting of the kitchen.

"Um. Hey. Who are you?"

"Who I am is of relative unimportance to you. We have become aware that you have been activated. Please tell me who activated you?"

Stiles pulled at his clothes, confused. He poked himself in the stomach. "Sorry to break it to you mister creeper, but I'm not a robot. Pretty sure you have the wrong guy. Pretty sure your breaking and entering. Pretty sure my dad will arrest you."

The old man smiled. Totally creepy. "I'm well aware of your father's role in this community. And I am well aware that you are not a robot."

"Um. Could you please leave then? You're kinda freaking me out."

Creeper unfolded his arms. "You are completely unaware, aren't you? You're mother told you nothing?"

"Dude, that's a soft spot. Fuck off." Stiles moved slowly toward the kitchen knives.

The guys held up his hand apologetically. "Forgive me. I did not expect to find the Investigator completely unaware. Such things rarely happen."

"Investi-who? What are you talking about?" Stiles had his back to the fridge now, but he was curious. This man knew his mother. His eyes flicked to the back door and then to Creeper. The door was locked.

"No need to be afraid, Mr. Stilinski. I am only here to see who activated you, and since you do not know what that means, let me explain."

Stiles nodded once. "You've got a couple minutes before I call my dad."

"No need. You have magic, Mr. Stilinski. Inherited from your mother."

"I—what?" Stiles was at a loss. "I have what? From my mom?"

The man sighed. "If you would like the full explanation, will you allow me to gift you her line of memories? She requested they go to you when the time was appropriate. It seems that this is the time."

"Uh… that sounds painful." Stiles gave up on his quest for knives. "And weird. Definitely weird. And kinda creepy. Weird and creepy. Yup, that explains it pretty good."

The man said nothing, still leaning against the counter. Stiles drummed his fingers on the refrigerator door.

"Okay fine."

Mr. Creeper took a few steps then leaned forward to touch his fingertips to Stile's temples. His hands were surprisingly cool and dry, callouses a bit rough on his head. Images flooded his mind, smells, tastes, snippets of half-heard sounds, the feel of fabrics and hot water. Laughter, tears, and ever-present memories.

But the memories were jumbled, like they'd been put in wrong order, that they didn't belong to him. He looked up at the man as he drew away. His name teased against the flush of new memories.

"High Councilman Aelfrick?"

He nodded, looking pleased. "Yes."

"I—I know things?"

"The memories are new and fresh. They will absorb into your normal memories, but they have been tagged as not-yours. You will know they are not yours. It will help keep you sane, and make the transfer process… easier."

The High Councilman leaned up against the counter again.

"I have some questions. Like a lot of questions. I don't know where to begin? Can I ask questions? Am I allowed to? Are you allowed to answer them? If not, I totally understand, but man this is kinda cool."

Aelfrick shook his head. "No questions tonight. You will be contacted again. We need you trained and ready to face the dangers again."

"But—?"

The man puffed out in black mist, and for a moment Stiles thought the entire encounter was completely made up, until he had the strange memory of seeing himself running around the house as a four-year-old, and a feeling of contentment coloring the vision. From his mother.

Holy shit. Magic was real.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek retreated to the safety of the burnt-out shell of the house. He'd patrolled the Beacon Hills Preserve after encountering the two teens. One looked familiar and the other… some alpha had bitten him. It must have been last night. Derek had heard the stampede of forest creatures. This alpha had killed his sister, no matter that she had gone looking for the rogue werewolf. And that meant he had an obligation to find out who this… thing was. Killing had always been highly frowned upon—forest creatures, sure, that was fine. People were another story altogether. His parents had taught him that. It was so ingrained in his family.

So who could have killed Laura? He knew it had to have been the werewolf she'd come back to find and put down. He cursed himself, how could he have left his only living—well, not counting Peter, he was as much a burned shell as the house—relative and let herself get herself killed? No matter that they didn't get along all that well. They could work through their differences. Even if he'd never had the courage to tell her about Kate Argent.

He shook his head. No sense in dwelling on that. He had a problem to deal with: a possible crazed alpha with no training and a newly-bitten teen who also had no training. Goddamnit. This was turning out to be one crappy week.

"Fuck," he said to no one in particular. He yanked his shirt off. He was going to do the only thing that helped when he was pissed/depressed/stressed: work out. He started with jumping from the ground the porch, proceeding to drop into pushups, situps and chip-ups. No need for a gym membership when he'd been on the run for years. It was easier this way. He finished by running five miles.

He returned to the house, wiped the worst of the sweat off, and sat down. He felt calm again, the anger slowly burning instead of flaring. He took deep breaths. Why had that other kid looked so familiar?

The sheriff.

Fuck.

Sheriff Stilinski's son was apparently best friends with a newly minted werewolf who'd had an asthma problem. Derek rose and kicked a few rocks around. If the sheriff knew about werewolves, then… oh god. He'd better not know about werewolves.

Derek cursed again. This was definitely turning out to be the second worst week of his life.

He checked the time, and decided he should at least get something to eat. Hunger and werewolves didn't mix well. But he wanted to get a clean first, so he grabbed a towel and walked to the river. The water was cold, but he didn't mind. Better than smelling terrible. He cleaned up, dried himself off, put on clean clothes and headed out.

Mentally, he ticked off places he didn't want to go to: places he'd had memories of. In the end he settled on the fried chicken place off the highway he'd seen coming in to town the other day.

Not the healthiest, but he got a chicken wrap from the drive-through and ate it on the way back to his house. If he was going to stay here for a while, he would eventually need to find some place better to live. But the money from the insurance of the fire would not last forever, and it's not like he could really be gainfully employed in a steady nine-to-five job. And he only had his GED, couldn't even finish high school. Laura dragged him away from Beacon Hills the moment they could possible get away, in the middle of baseball season and the middle of the semester. They'd basically disappeared.

Derek parked the car well away from the house and jogged lightly to the remains of his childhood home. Maybe he would do as Laura had once suggested and take online classes. But he had a lot more to worry about than money and education. Maybe when the whole thing with the new alpha was over with, he could look into it.

A sudden memory hit him like a brick. Laura was dead, and she had a life insurance policy out on her, with Derek as the beneficiary. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't see that money for a while. He'd rather have his sister than the money. Something also told him the sheriff's son would somehow put him in jeopardy of ever getting that money. Kid was mouthy and he'd barely met him.

Why, oh why had he ever returned to Beacon Hills? Why had he let Laura return to here?

Night settled and Derek pulled out a sleeping bag and made himself comfortable in what was left of his parent's bedroom. If he closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, it was almost as if he could hear them laughing like they had done Sunday mornings. Derek did not cry, no. It was simply liquid leaving a rock, yes. That's it.

* * *

Notes: Let me know what you think so far. I'm not sure of posting schedule, but I'm hoping to post a few times a week. Most chapters will end up being short in the beginning, I think.

I'm also going to switch between Derek and Stiles POV. Because reasons :)


	3. The Stiles and Scott Crime-Solving Team

Stiles sat on his couch, with his pen in hand. Scott had been a bit weird all day, cagey. He supposed it had something to do with Allison. Stiles laughed a little to himself. Scott had never been as girl-crazy as Stiles (well, that was just Lydia-crazy) and to watch his friend go cuckoo was… nice, in a way. And the fact that he got a free pass, well, Stiles attributed that to his stupid ridiculous werewolf powers or something. Probably some special werewolf magic mojo crap. And Stiles had special mojo magic crap, but so far no training had happened yet. Maybe soon. Stiles didn't want to wait forever before he had hot girls fawning over him, or… maybe hot guys? Did gay guys find him attractive?

Nothing was coming to him. Nothing about the body in the forest, not even the memories he'd been gifted had helped at all. After the other night, he'd just been his normal self. Still, he thought he dreamed the whole thing, and then some wacky memory from his mom would bubble up and, yeah. Especially weird when he started remembering these weird facts about his dad that his mom knew. Stiles always pushed those aside for fear of cringe-worthy memories. Hopefully his mom did NOT gift him with, oh god, "special time" memories. Gross.

He had to come up with some plan of attack for Saturday's game. Scott's chance to play first string was important, and well, Derek had said Scott couldn't play. Stiles tended to agree. Werewolf on a lacrosse field? Bad news. Especially with these hunters apparently out and ready to kill.

Come on! Why did he have no information? He needed something and the stupid memories, for now, only had happy fuzzies. No use in crisis situations. Gee, thanks Mom.

Tapping the pen against the pad of paper didn't help. Nothing was coming to him. If he had magic powers, maybe he could use those to help Scott. But no, all he had was this stupid _intense_ tingling up and down his arms and sitting still was difficult. The last few days had been like that. What was causing this? The only supernatural things he knew of were Scott and Derek, and he hardly knew Derek at all.

Maybe something to do with the dead body? Stiles wrote that down. Dead Girl. Then he underlined it several times. Good as any place to start. But where would the other half be? He thought about calling Scott. Would he be able to find the other half?

Stiles wrote down Derek's name on the paper. Okay, so two things now. Dead Girl and Derek. Was that all there was to go on? Stiles tapped on the pad until his call went through to Scott.

"Yo, Scotty."

"What do you want Stiles? I'm trying to do homework. Don't you have homework to do?"

"Done already, my friend."

Scott sighed. "Good for you."

"Worried about the game and not playing?"

"I'm going to play," Scott said.

Stubborn as usual. Stiles could always count on that. "So, I've been thinking and I've got two names, well, one name and one thing. Dead Girl and Derek. Super smell, does that mean you can track things? People?"

"Yeah. Why do I get the feeling that this isn't going to be fun?"

"Scott, you're dealing with your best pal in the whole world. Of course it will be fun. In a heart pounding, we-might-be-doing-something-illegal kind of way."

Scott groaned. Stiles smiled. That groan meant Scott wouldn't push the idea out entirely.

"So, the morgue is at your mom's work, right? Well, we need to sneak you in to the morgue to smell Dead Girl and then we follow that scent. Then voila, we have the other half of Dead Girl!"

"Stiles, that's a terrible idea."

"You have it backwards, Scott. It's a great idea."

Stiles was doodling on the page. Drawing little wolves or something, he wasn't paying attention, but they looked like wolves.

"No, I think I had it right the first time. Terrible. Idea. You."

"Scott," Stiles whined, getting up and pacing the lower floor of the house. "How else are we supposed to figure out what the hell is going on? Do you want to ask your new best friend, Mr. Grumpy and Secretive?"

"No." Scott sounded sullen, like he'd finally seen sense. "I'm going to play or—"

"Good. So, I'll pick you up, we'll go to the hospital, then find our missing half."

"Fine, Stiles. I've got to go and finish up this crappy homework. How can you be done already?"

"Remember McScotty, I'm a genius."

"Yeah, right. Send me a text when you are coming over, alright?"

"Roger that!"

Stiles ended the call. He shook his limbs out trying to loosen them up and relieve some of the pent up energy. When would his training start? And how long would it last? He hoped it would not be seven years plus, or involve complicated hand gestures and phases of the stars and sun and moon. No thank you. He had too much studying to do already.

Stiles frittered away the time, browsing the internet for werewolf and magic stuff. Good god, some people got off on the weirdest things… really. Stiles checked the time and looked outside. His dad would be working late again tonight, especially with the murder still unsolved. Perfect timing for The Stiles and Scott Super Crime-Solving Team to get to work.

He sent Scott and text, grabbed his keys and ran out the door.

* * *

Notes: So, the chapters have been pretty short thus far. They will get longer! I'm just trying to do a bit of set up right now. Don't worry, magic will be coming up in the next Stiles chapter!

If you want, you can follow me on tumblr


	4. Burying Laura Again

Derek rubbed his wrists. While the cuffs hadn't left any marks, he could still feel them as if they were there. Fucking kids. Snooping around and digging up his sister so the whole world could know his extra pain. Scott. What an ingrate. Did that stupid kid really think he killed his own sister? He'd be an alpha now if that were case.

Thank god the sheriff apologized for the whole thing. Animal killing = not Derek. Humans not knowing about the supernatural meant a win for Derek as well. He knew Laura had been killed by a werewolf and ripped in half. The sheriff squeezed Derek's shoulder before he left, saying he distraught to hear about another member of his family dying. At least the man was a nice guy—totally unlike his spastic kid.

He walked away from the station and went to the high school. If he knew better, and he did, Scott probably thought putting him in jail was a good idea—if only to play and go out with his little girlfriend of an Argent, who probably planned on skinning him alive. The idiot.

Soon he was on the campus, the lights of the lacrosse field still on, and one player remaining. Whittemore. Derek was familiar with the last name. One of the lawyers in town. Well, at least Derek knew who's son he would be dealing with. Well, the game was over, and no police nor hunters, so chalk one up for the confused puppy.

Derek's eyes focused on the glove in Whittemore's hand. He could see where claws had pierced the glove. Scott. Derek grew angry, but made no move. This other kid could prove useful in the future, if Derek ever became alpha. Though, at the moment, he couldn't do much.

Whittemore didn't see him, so Derek left the field and walked back toward the shell of his home. It was a place to sleep out of the rain, and tonight, he doubted there would be any more craziness at the house. Laura had been identified and Derek wanted to inter her on the property with the rest of the family, as they should have been.

Upon returning to the house, Derek saw the hole was still dug out. Perfect. Derek took Laura from the back of the hearse where the undertaker had left her, per his instruction. Some other poor sap would be buried in the graveyard with no marker. Hales were buried on Hale property—or what had once been Hale property. The county was supposed to own it now, but as long as Peter and himself lived, well, they could fight for it. Though, he supposed, it would be Derek fighting. Peter wasn't in any shape to fight at all.

Derek opened the back of the hearse, and took out the casket. Werewolf strength was good for something, at least. He lowered it gently on the ground. A light misting of rain began to fall. Derek took off his leather jacket, and set it on the porch, where it wouldn't get as wet. In moments he dug more dirt out of the pit: enough room to put Laura in there whole. As whole as she could be.

He let the rain wash tears from his face, as he buried his sister a second time. A smiled tugged at his lips as he remembered something from a few years ago—they were on the run from hunters, but Laura stopped and insisted they have a little bit of fun. They went to see a comedy and pigged out on popcorn and Red Vines laughing the entire time. His smile faded as he placed her lower half with the upper half. He'd originally declared vengeance against the wolf who'd done this, but with the work of the Stupid Duo, that hadn't been announced as much as he would have liked. He could still do it. Derek found the rope of wolfsbane and laid in a swirl, so Laura could rest as she had meant to rest. As a wolf.

The misting became actual rain by the time vengeance was written out loud. The rain turned to a downpour when he'd finally filled the hole and beaten it down as best he could. He was drenched, but protocol was protocol. He grabbed a rake from the back of the house, water constantly dripping from his nose and in rivulets down his cheeks. He raked a bunch of leaves over the bare dirt as if they'd causally fallen there. No one would dig here again. He would make sure of that. Derek stepped on the porch, the hammer of rain steadying, and he stripped off his shirt and jeans and wrung them out.

Derek shifted to full wolf-form and howled the howl of mourning. The sound echoed through the Preserve and the surrounding hills. No howls acknowledged his own, and for that, he was grateful. He didn't need the alpha around tonight. As long as the wolf wasn't completely insane, he'd stay away—at least for tonight.

He transformed back and went inside to sleep the rest of the night. He'd had enough worrying and he needed the rest. The problems would sort out. No matter who the wolf was, Derek would take the power that rightfully belonged to him.

* * *

Notes: So, this is never mentioned, and I thought that I'd have Derek bury Laura a second time. Apparently nothing happens in the show (unless I missed it?), and this is a good time to get Derek alone and a little sad and vengeful. Shows a tiny, tiny bit of the past Laura. I don't subscribe to her being perfect, but rather a normal, probably annoying sister that Derek cares about as she is the only family left. I may have more flash backs with the sister. Not sure yet.

Leave me love and all that jazz, and follow me on tumblr if you want! ^_^


	5. Memory Lane in Wisconsin

Death Warning, but it'll be okay.

* * *

Stiles shook. His skin absolutely thrummed with energy, like there was electricity in the air. The encounter tonight took too much out of him. Seeing someone almost die, and that he couldn't do anything about it? Admittedly, the whole wolfsbane to treat wolfsbane thing seemed cool. At least they'd be able to do something in the end that didn't involve saws. Stiles walked into his house. His dad wasn't home, again. No surprise there, not really.

Spending a lot of time trying to keep Derek Hale alive, well, that was something he never thought he'd do. At least Derek had said thank you (though too quietly for Stiles liking)before rushing off to go show Scott the wonderful happiness of how evil the Argents were. Stiles didn't care one way or the other. Allison seemed nice, but her dad looked shifty and her mom was just… frightening. Stepford frightening.

Stiles dropped his bag on the floor of his room, and nearly jumped when black mists puffed into some man. Stiles shook his head. It was the same creepy guy as before. High Councilman Aelfrick. He hoped the man did not do some crazy stuff. He'd had a rough day already. He almost said as much.

"Mr. Stilinski," the man said. "You need to release some of that energy."

"You think? Unfortunately, you've forgotten a simple fact that I _don't know how._" Stiles flopped on his bed, the propped himself up. "None of this came with a manual you know."

Aelfrick pointed to Stiles' head.

"Um, yeah. All I'm getting are happy fuzzy memories of my dad when I see him. Nothing useful."

Aelfrick leaned against the computer desk, his palms resting on the flat surface. "Well," he began, "we must change that. Who ever activated you, and I'm guessing I know who it is now, has been around you again. And you are positively disgustingly vibrating with power."

Stiles sat up. "Vibrating? Like lightning is about to strike?"

The man nodded. In the better light of his bedroom, Stiles noticed the dark waves of his hair, not short, but not as long as Scott's, and his purple eyes. He though he should have noticed that before—but that was before, you know, when he thought he was a break and enter kind of guy.

"Exactly. I will transport you to somewhere we can do a little training." Aelfrick extended his hand. "Don't worry, your father will not be returning home until after we are finished."

Stiles stood, and thinking twice, grabbed a hoodie. "And how would you know that?"

"Mr. Stilinski, we will discuss that at a future time."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course. Another time. No answers for Stiles about anything. He took the man's hand. And the creeper smiled.

The sensation was something he'd never felt before. He could see the black mist for a split second before utter darkness and a small pop of his ears. Before he could finish blinking he was somewhere else. Some forest that looked like it could be Beacon Hills, but the air was cooler, like there had been recent rain. The tingling sensation faded enough that Stiles felt like he wasn't going to explode with the energy.

Aelfrick let go of his hand. "We are in Wisconsin, if you must know."

"I didn't say anything. And Wisconsin? Awesome! How long did it take?"

Aelfrick crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. "Sometimes. Sometimes I wonder why you were to become the Inspector. How long do you think it took?"

"A second?"

The older man nodded. "Precisely. This is magic, Mr. Stilinski. Not rocket science."

"Well," Stiles said. "I'm a little more familiar with rocket science. So… is this going to be like—?"

"No. We have no wands, if you hadn't noticed. No weird cramping hand motions."

"Then?" Stiles asked.

"It's the most simple thing in the world, really. Just extend the magic and shape it. The memories should kick in and be helpful once you let the first burst go."

Stiles shook his head. "And how do I do that?"

Aelfrick frowned, and Stiles had the sudden feeling that the guy was not used to people not knowing what the hell they were doing.

"Just… do it." He waved his hands about, like that was enough of an explanation. "The vibrations under your skin."

"Uh, okay." Stiles closed his eyes, concentrating on the tingling vibrations, then opened his eyes. He kept his thoughts on the thrumming under his skin, and well, since he had been talking about lightning…. He thought of lightning, extended his hand and arm out to point to a tree and imagined the vibrations leaving him as lightning to strike the tree.

Stiles woke up a few moments later, on his back. The air smelled like ozone. He also felt tired, like he'd been at lacrosse practice for three hours with Finstock making him run laps the entire time. He groaned and tried to get up. He heard laughing. Laughing!

In a moment, Aelfrick was to him and offered him a hand. Stiles took it, noting the evil happiness in the man's eyes. On his feet, he felt less drained.

"Lightning, Mr. Stilinski?"

"Stiles. You don't have to keep calling me that."

The man's smiled softened. "Just like her," he said quietly. "She struck down a tree on her first try, and of course refused to be so formally addressed."

Stiles brushed off the wet leaves from his back. The tingling had subsided even more. He still felt tired.

"You must be exhausted," Aelfrick said. "That much release of power is very dangerous, but of course, you should know that."

Stiles took a few steps toward a smoking black stump—"Where's the rest of it?"

Aelfrick scratched his head. "Gone. Burned to a crisp and probably ashified already. You've got more than your mother's share."

Stiles let out a whoop. "Awesome! Freaking awesome!"

The High Councilman frowned. "There are rules of course."

"Rules?" Stiles shoulders slumped. "Why are there always rules?"

"Because." The man crossed his arms. "You have an incredible amount of power, and you are not bound by the Concord of the Highest Council and the Lesser Beings."

"What does that even mean?"

Aelfrick gave Stiles a meaningful glance.

Stiles felt light-headed and something _pop _in his head.

"—_and the Concord must always be upheld," a voice said. "Except for you. You are the Inspector and thus not bound by the Concord. You, alone, have the power to shift the lives and fates of those around you. But only so much. Break too far, and Retribution will be upon you as if no time passed. She is frightening indeed."_

_"But what does that mean?" Stiles' mother said._

_"It means you have wiggle room. Even the Highest Council can only do so much. You are our agent and the agent for the balance and the greatest good. You can _act. _You can do something about the people you care for. Beacon Hills is one of the most powerful nexuses in this world. Your duty is to keep the people there safe."_

_"And the Concord? Should I know it?"_

_"Yes." Fingers touched temples. "You should know it now. The Concord is to keep the balance and from our terrible power from dominating everything."_

_"And I can use the power as I will."_

_"Retribution."_

_"Not a real person. I know that."_

_"That does not mean there is no price to pay for your freedom. Use with the Concord in mind, and there is no penalty for use. Outside the Concord."_

_"Oh—"_

Stiles sucked in a breath. "A… memory?"

Aelfrick nodded.

"Retribution? What is it? I have a vague remembrance of the Concord, but it's fading."

Aelfrick motioned for Stiles to walk beside him. "Your mother was dead when we got to her. As the Keeper of Memories, I took them under my care, but some were damaged with no way of knowing which were comprimised."

"Can you at least tell me? I won't interrupt, well if I can help it. I'm feeling less ADHD than I have in a long time."

"It's not ADHD. It's magic."

"Oh, should I stop—?"

"Yes. You can use your age as a reason to be reevaluated and taken off."

Stiles nodded. Aelfrick remained silent a few moments longer. Stiles looked to the man. His clothes were shifty, and Stiles thought they must be magical as well. He needed to know about all this stuff, and the man—he looked like he was thinking the best way to say it. Stiles hoped not for another stupid mind meld thingy. So far that method had proven useless.

"The Concord states that we, as the Highest, must not use our powers for dominance or to change the fates of those living or dead. Before you ask, yes. We have the power to do anything we can think of, hence the Concord.

"It has been in place for thousands upon thousands of years, and has never been broken. We were given a few exceptions to the Concord to act as agents of our Council here. These agents, or Inspectors, do not abide by the Concord, nor do they have to. But, I'm guessing you know that. You can do as much magic as you want as long as it is not for dominance over others.

"Fate is a more fickle thing to worry about. The whole tree thing, that was probably fated. Most things are. But say, you wanted to bring your mother back? Possible, but the fate would be changed so drastically, the very fabric would strain. Could you do it? Yes. You'd probably end up dead, though.

"Magic is not to be trifled with. If you break the Concord's rules you will—no, best to show you."

Stiles stopped as the man stopped. He closed his eyes, and Stiles could have sworn he heard a high keening sound, though Aelfrick's mouth did not move.

In moments, a huge deer appeared out of the dark of the forest. Its large black eyes focused on the taller, older man. It lowered its head, like it knew something, large antlers pointing toward them. Stiles felt his stomach sink.

"He knows why I have called him," Aelfrick said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "He knows this is a lesson for you, and submits himself. Stiles, find the power, and think of this deer's heart stopped."

His mouth dried, and he felt sick. Stiles did as he was asked though. He took a step toward the large buck. His fur was soft and warm, and Stiles could feel the weight of the creature's stare upon him.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said. He lowered his hand to his side.

Stiles felt the vibrations just below the surface of his skin, and latched on to the feeling. He locked his eyes onto the animal's.

He imagined the deer dead, heart stopped. A thousand voices screamed _NO_ in his ears, and yet he pushed the magic out.

The buzzing under his skin flared white-hot, as if he were burning alive. He saw the deer buckle under its own weight. Stiles fell as well, his skin felt like it was melting, like he was burning alive from the inside out. He gasped for air, sucking in great mouthfuls, though he could not seem to catch his breath. Lava flowed through his veins still, and he thought he was going to die. Every nerve pulsed and throbbed, screaming at him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and a hand wiped at it. In a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal, and the pain lessened.

"What? What was that?"

"That was going against the Concord."

Aelfrick helped him up.

"That was shitty," Stiles said, swiping at him. "I didn't even want to do it."

"I know, Stiles. There is another lesson here as well."

"It better not involve lava blood and the screaming."

Aelfrick frowned. "No, it does not. Bring the beast back to life. Break what you did."

Stiles turned, shaking. He couldn't feel the thrumming under his skin, at first, but then he found it. A soft pulsing, there, hiding, just waiting to be found. Stiles concentrated on the tiny pulse, and extended it. He imagined the deer alive, the heart pumping, like it had never even stopped. No screaming just a murmured whisper of _no_.

The large black eyes sparked to life, the creature breathing in and out, like it had run a marathon. Stiles felt a chill pass through him, then a warm blossoming of good bubbling up, erasing the traces of pain he'd felt—like it had been a bad nightmare.

"Can you explain that?" Stiles asked softly.

The deer rose up, nodded to Aelfrick, then to Stiles, before huffing what Stiles thought was thanks and running off to… wherever he'd come from.

"That is also going against fate, as you'd changed his fate twice, but the first time, you didn't want to do it and you were also warned. Also, as his fate wasn't to die tonight, by bringing him back, you restored that, even though the warning was quieter."

Stiles sighed. "What is the point of being able to bend the Concord if I can't use it without nearly dying of shock every time? Why not just send others out?"

Aelfrick took a moment before responding. "We are also bound to stay out of the affairs of the Lesser Beings unless we are specifically called for or if we request permission. You are not bound, at all, and no consequences will arise from your free will. You can use cunning and brains instead of magic, use friends and enemies to achieve your will."

"Oh."

"And the searing pain only happens the first time, I should have warned you but…"

"No point in doing so." Stiles ran his hand through his short hair. "So it gets easier to break the agreement?"

"Yes and no. Do so too much and you face us, if you do not heed our warnings, then the Lessers will come after you and rip you apart. Of course, you will always hear the _no_ if it is breaking the Concord. Screaming, I hear, is a major violation and should probably not be done. A whispered is not exactly the go-ahead, but it'll probably be looked over."

Stiles shook his head. "I don't know what to do." He looked to the man for some guidance. He was smiling. Like not knowing was a _good _thing.

"It is a good thing." It was like the man could read his mind—could he read his mind? "It means you have no agenda. It means you don't want to use it unless you have to. It means you will be careful. This is a gift, much like the bite of a werewolf is. Oh, speaking of that, don't be bitten by an alpha werewolf. They are one of the more powerful Lessers."

"History lesson?" Stiles sat down. He was exhausted. He let a tree support him, let his weight relax.

Aelfrick shrugged and sat down as well. "A brief one, yet. The Concord granted different powers and abilities to different groups. Seeing as you are aware of werewolves, I will tell you what they have gained: the ability to smell magic if used, for the betas, and the ability to smell out any magic in the alphas. Also the bite of an alpha will transform a Higher into a Lesser, a werewolf. Take care in not being bitten, though I'm sure you can manage that. If you are…"

Stiles sighed. He felt a bubble melt and a memory unlock. "If I am, I must break the spell immediately, regardless of the consequences."

Aelfrick nodded. "Another memory opening. Good. The window you have is about ten minutes. Then… all is lost. Not all werewolves are aware of this weakness, and we do not encourage them to know."

"Anything else? You mentioned you know who Awakened my powers."

Aelfrick's mouth twisted to a smile. "Clever, Stiles, clever. I'll give you one word. Let the memories do their work for you: concomitant.

"I must return to the Council. I will not teach you how to return home, but I can offer you a tiny touch of power."Aelfrick then stood, brushing off his clothes. With that, the man melted into black mist. Stiles felt a little bit more energized. And totally left alone in the woods. In a state some two thousand miles from home.

Stiles hit his head against the tree. Fuck. He knew it would be easy to get home, but… he wasn't ready for that yet. He was so tired, so worn out. He pulled out his phone. He'd been with the weird creepy magic man exactly one hour. Longest hour of his life. He knew he had to get home and that it would be easy.

He looked up to the moon slashed and half-covered by clouds, the light just a glowing spot in the clouds. Concomitant. What the hell did that mean, anyway? He knew he wasn't going to like the answer. And since today was Memory Lane, another memory gurgled up.

—_looks at the man. He's tall, strong, and works for the police. A good ally, if she'd had to have one at all._

_"Officer Stilinski," the man says, extending his hand. "I have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."_

_"Not at all, officer. I just hope I can help you enough." No Concomitant, no, but that was so rare and the Seer hadn't seen her with one. But… with this man? She extended her powers and then sighed. Yes, with this man, she would have a powerful heir, and her child would have a Concomitant—the need was so great. It was all she could wish for, all she needed to know. Beacon Hills would be safe. And the officer _was _a handsome man._

Stiles shook his head. She'd known the whole time? He didn't want to continue that train of thought, so he searched for the tingling and imagined himself in his room.

He looked around, home, again, suddenly, like he'd never left. Only the barest hint of black mist fading told him the entire forest encounter in Wisconsin (of all places) had been real. This was getting weird, fast.

Stiles pulled out his phone, walked downstairs and gulped down two glasses of water, texting Scott about his little trip with Derek. Then he wolfed down some leftover chinese. He'd have to talk to his dad about that.

-omg, his UNCLE is like burned all on one side, and said theres argent mercy for you.

-whoa. man that is fucked. you okay?

Stiles turned off the lights, then flopped on his bed.

-yeah. just… not sure if I believe him you know?

-i know. hey, I'm exhausted with all the antics today. tell derek he owes me.

-w/e. night stiles. see you at school.

-night.

Stiles switched his phone off, and let if fall somewhere on his bed. Though it was barely past eleven, he was wiped and all he wanted to do was sleep. He dreamt liquid black eyes pleading for life, and he could do nothing to save them, eyes that turned electric blue and demanded that he be saved.

* * *

End notes: Hope you liked this chapter! It's a hefty one and one I really wanted to look over before diving beyond. Pretty much gonna lock me in with what happened. Thanks for the comments/kudos and for reading! 3

You can follow me on tumblr.

If you haven't already, check out my other works! ^_^


	6. Vaccinium Corymbosum

Notes: Ugh. So I'm using flashback and memories like crazy and I apologize!

This is a bit longer than the first four chapters. I'm sort of playing this out through the show in backmoments we don't see on screen. Haven't written the next Stiles chapter, but looks like it'll be about after episode 6 for those who care. Derek's next one will probably be concurrent.

This is a bit of a slow build, but not to worry!

* * *

The bitch was back in town. Fuck. Derek looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed. Kate wouldn't risk it, he felt sure, not with two downed hunters: that he hadn't killed, thank you very much.

Derek should have known better than to believe she'd been exiled for all of eternity, but hunters playing by the rules was something he didn't believe he'd ever see. Derek shook, pissed that his workout was interrupted. And she was back. Gerard would be soon to follow, if he'd remembered anything about the bitch's family.

_"We didn't kill your sister."_ Kate's musical voice haunted him now that he walked around the Preserve.

Derek yelled, letting his claws extend to slash at a nearby tree.

"Damnit!"

He punched the tree hard, and it fell over, a tangle of snapped fibers still clinging to the thrashed trunk. Today was not going well. Good thing he knew Kate Argent would not let him out of there alive—whether or not he gave the alpha up. One touch with the shock wand… almost enough to make him shut down entirely.

Derek collapsed against the base of another tree and rubbed his hands through his hair. He wished he had someone to talk to about the whole thing with Kate. He hadn't told Laura, nor could he ever—it was too painful.

Who would listen to him? The trees?

He picked at the rocks and leaves around him, struggling with his anger.

"Why did she come back?" he asked a fallen, crispy leaf.

It said nothing back to him.

Kate's return only meant one thing to him: she'd come to finish the job she'd failed at years ago. Come back to kill him and probably Peter as well—no struggle from the easy target in long term care, a victim of Kate's arson attack.

Derek closed his eyes, focusing on the sounds of the forest around him. Quiet. No sounds of humans, just the fluttering beats of wild animals. Good, she didn't follow him. Perhaps she wanted to kill him in a more… spectacular manner. He had no plans of dying anytime soon.

Oh. She'd been back for a few days. Which means… Kate shot him with that wolfsbane bullet. Thankfully Scott had an in, with an unsuspecting girlfriend, and got him another bullet so he could heal himself. Scott's friend, Stiles. There was something about the kid, more than just his obvious looks. Something nagging at Derek and he couldn't place it. Good thing he'd been willing to cut off his arm after some _intimidation._

Looking back on the entire affair with the Kate, Derek knew she had been angling at something the entire time. Memories of their first meeting flooded back.

_"Hey, sweetie."_

_Derek looked up. "Hey."_

_A tall woman stood before him, her honey-blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face. Derek knew she was pretty—objectively at least. He had never seen women that way, not like his friends. He'd been single his whole life, and never wanted anyone to know his deep, dark secret. Not his parents, not his family, not even his friends. He was ashamed of himself. Werewolves… werewolves had to reproduce. Born werewolves were in such short supply and—he couldn't fail his family. Couldn't disappoint his mom. Couldn't bear to watch anger flick across her eyes. "You don't know your duty," she would say._

_"You look like you could use someone to talk to."_

_Derek looked around. They were alone. Derek liked to come to the park, alone, sometimes. Just to get away from the sounds of happiness and the pain he felt around his friends and their girlfriends. Reminders that he wasn't _normal.

_Derek said nothing, avoiding looking at her. He didn't want to talk to her._

_"I've noticed you sitting her day after day for the past week. I live just up the street. I'm Kate."_

If she'd said her last name, he would have run for the hills. His parents told him enough about the Argents, but, well, they thought the hunting family had been ditched somewhere in Virginia.

_"Derek," he said, looking at her again. "You've been watching me?"_

_She smiled and shrugged. "You're kinda hard not to notice." She sat down next to him, smiling again. Shyly._

_Derek said nothing, poking at the ground, plucking grass._

_"Hey, it's a compliment," she said. "You play sports in high school?"_

_Derek looked at her again. She seemed interested, at least in talking to him. He felt like he could open up to her, like he could talk to her. She had that _look_ of trustworthiness. But he wouldn't tell her about the full moon business. Ever._

_"Yeah. I play baseball for Beacon Hills High."_

_"Play? Oh my god," she giggled. "You're still in high school? I thought you were a little bit older. You are so handsome." She blushed._

_"Yeah. Junior there."_

_"Honey, where are your friends?"_

_Derek shrugged. "Probably with their girlfriends."_

_She touched his shoulder, gentle, and gave it a squeeze. "What happened to your girlfriend?"_

_"Don't have one." He looked up to see the shock written all over her face._

_"You guys have a nasty break up or something?"_

_He shrugged again. "No. Never had a girlfriend."_

_Kate smiled. She was pretty when she smiled. "Never? Well, listen up. I've decided that it is my mission to cheer you up today. Consider yourself lucky. I'm good at cheering people up."_

_"Okay."_

_"Hey, not everyone gets the Cheer Cheerleader. Come on, you hungry? Why don't we get something to eat. Then you can tell me everything that's bring you down."_

Derek opened his eyes. It was still afternoon. He didn't want to wait until dark, but he couldn't go back to the house yet. Not so soon after, _she_ had been there. So he got up, brushed off his jeans and jogged to his car. He wanted to get some bushes for his family, something to plant where they were buried. He had to apologize to them, explain what happened. Even if they couldn't hear what he had to say.

Before he jumped in the Camaro, he grabbed a spare shirt from the trunk, then drove into town to Beacon Hills Nursery. The place wasn't busy, which suited Derek just fine. He looked through rows and rows of plants and bushes, when he finally reached a something near the back of the shrub section. The bushes looked spindly and a little wan, like they needed some good sunlight and water. Derek plucked at the tag, turning it over. _Vaccinium corymbosum: _blueberries.

Derek grabbed all the remaining stock, some eight bushes and paid for them, along with a few gardening tools he knew weren't at the house, and a bag of fertilizer.

A few hours remained in the day when he returned to the house. Derek took out the plants with care. He dug shallow holes in a circle, roughly the places were he and Laura had buried everyone, much like he had buried Laura a few nights ago. He padded the sides with fertilizer and planted each blueberry bush, packing more fertilizer and topsoil. When he placed the sixth, he paused. Two more left: one for Mom and one for Dad. Derek wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Mom, Dad. There is something I need to tell you." He spoke quietly, listening for breath and heartbeats in the surrounding area. He knelt, and place another bush. He wanted to make sure no one heard this conversation.

"Mom. I… I don't know how to say this, even though you are gone."

Patting the plant down and adding more fertilizer and soil, he stopped. Thinking. He wanted to confess everything. He wanted to let his soul breathe again. He wanted, above all, forgiveness.

"I was so afraid," he said. "I was so afraid of what you'd say to me. When I told you. You did not deserve either fate. I choose the wrong one. I would gladly change the past if I could.

"I'm… gay. I'm sorry. I never wanted to be. I wanted to be everything you wanted me to be. I wanted the children you wanted. I wanted to grow our pack, I wanted to see your smiles when I dropped the children off. I wanted to hear your complaints of too many mouths to feed at family dinners between Laura's and my children, the cousins, everyone."

"I even tried to change," he said forcefully. "I wanted so much for us to continue the family. Continue the traditions. Kate, she… wanted to change me. Change me to what I wanted to be, and there was no way I was going to tell you. Not when she hadn't been successful, not when she said she needed more time. Not when I brought her into our home, as she said perhaps we needed to try it there, in my bedroom to help me be cured. She knew our big secret all along, knew she needed an in."

_"Come on, Derek. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I know your little gay secret." An eyebrow rose. "Well, come here. I won't bite. It doesn't have _teeth_ for fuck's sake. Once you have a taste, you'll never think about a guy, again. I can guarantee. Don't you want to prove your family proud of all the love they give you?"_

Derek caressed the dirt, drawing little patterns in the dark soil. He remember his mother drawing those same types of circles on his back when he was young: endless loops to ease the tension of a bad day.

"I know I should have. But it was too late when I wanted to. I thought I could change, I thought she could help me, change me. But instead she burned me, burned us."

_"Derek," she said. "I'm so sorry you missed the show. There were so many _burning_ questions of 'Why, why us?' and 'How did they find us?' Did you forget to tell them you were dating me? Oh, and sweetie?" Her smiled changed to a sneer. "I could never have turned you straight."_

Derek picked up the last bush and set it where his dad was buried. He patted more fertilizer in. He had never been one to talk too much with his father. Dad and been one to communicate much like he did: through looks and glances.

"I tried my best. I did. I had good grades, friends, everything you wanted me to have. But I never felt good enough or deserving enough for your love, not when I knew who I was and you didn't. Not when I couldn't… and I wish I wasn't so you could be here. I'd rather not be, if you could be here.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

Derek quickly wiped away a tear before it could stain his cheeks. The sunset illuminated the clouds in gold-leaf and orange, setting the tips of the trees in an autumnal glow. Derek wiped his hands off on his jeans and rose. He grabbed two buckets and walked the short distance to the stream.

He filled the buckets several times and poured them over the newly planted blueberries. By the time he was finished, darkness had stolen the last of the light. Now, his family could be generous again, giving their fruits to the world again.

Derek stripped, left his clothes by the back of the house, and transformed, letting himself run down to the deeper swifter waters further in the Preserve to clean himself. When he returned he dressed, then drove his car farther away from the burned shell. He wanted to take a nap. Tonight, he would follow the McCall boy to learn his pattern. The kid needed training if they were going to take down the alpha. Vengeance had been called. Derek Hale would become alpha, and Laura's death would be avenged.

And maybe, just maybe, he could start his life.

* * *

Notes: I totally love this headcanon about Derek and Kate. To me, it adds depth to Derek's character, and as I am a big fan of evil and manipulative Kate, this just proves how nasty she is.

I hope you liked this chapter! Hopefully will update tomorrow, but no promises as my writing/editing skills may be compromised by copious amounts of St. Patrick's Day.


	7. In Case You Need Me

Note: Unbeta'd but I think I caught most of the errors and sentences that made no sense.

* * *

And of course, his pride and joy just had to be wolf-handled and the battery tossed out like so much garbage. But the whole howling to get the alpha… cool. Then scary.

"Son," his dad said. "You okay?"

Stiles nodded, for once wishing he could just go up to his room and sleep and avoid the conversation with his dad. "Just tired." He wished he could tell his dad everything, but there must have been some reason for his mom to avoid telling him. No memories came to the surface at the thought. Yay.

He got out, waiting for his dad to unlock the door before trying to bolt upstairs. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, and squeezed before he could cross the threshold.

"Love you son."

"Love you, Dad." Stiles didn't look to his father, but covered his father's hand with his own. He did love his dad, and that's what kept his mouth shut about everything. If silence meant a little protection…

Stiles trudged up the stairs.

"_I wanted to do it."_ Stiles wished he could have done something for his friend. But even he wouldn't go against the—chorus of screaming was too light, it was more as if the whole world gathered in his head and shouted all at once—of changing his friend back to human. That was the most painful thing about this. He couldn't even help his best friend. Couldn't without seriously destroying the whole world, probably.

He dropped his backpack by his desk. He was worried about Derek. The guy had been punctured all the way through by big, nasty, alpha claws. And been thrown like a rag doll. He resolved to check up on the broody man before he went to bed. He owed it to Derek—for Scott fucking things up again for the guy. And because he looked a little lonely. Maybe more because he looked lonely.

Pulling out a book from his bag, a knock came on his door frame. His dad stood there, still dressed in uniform and looking tired. He'd looked tired for the last couple months. Had his face been so lined with worry and concern before?

"I've got to go back down to the station and do some reports. I'll be back tonight, though. If you need anything, give me a call."

Stiles nodded. "Okay. Be careful."

"Always, son. Always."

He was tempted to give his dad a hug, but the sheriff lip's thinned, as if his dad wasn't sure about saying more, then he left without a word. Stiles slumped over his books, hitting his head against the desk a few times.

"And get some rest," Stiles shouted.

He busied himself with doodling until the front door shut softly, the cruiser started and backed out of the driveway. He let out a breath. No magic while pops was around. Some sort of vow he wanted to uphold as long as possible.

Concentrating on the humming magic, he imagined Derek in his mind and _pushed_ himself toward that. At least the magic was cooperating now, in fact, it seemed kind of eager.

He was standing outside the school, his Jeep resting there, its battery somewhere on the second floor of the school. Stiles looked around for Derek. This was where he was thrown, but there was no sign of the older werewolf. Perhaps Stiles unconsciously wanted to avoid being sniffed at and discovered. He could work with that.

He brought his hands over his eyes and pushed magic to give himself what he termed Derek-vision. He chuckled at that. Sounded like a really corny reality-TV show. Again no whispers of _no no bad idea,_ so Stiles chalked it up to good fortune and finally something going his way.

He followed the light glow, which he hoped would lead him to the grumpy, leather-jacket clad man. He walked away from the direction of the school and found himself going through the woods at night. Again. With the alpha still probably on the loose. But Stiles had magic—if it cooperated—and Scott's belief that the alpha wanted him to do it, as protection. Stiles shuddered. He really should be more afraid than he was, but like Aelfrick said… he would have to do what he would have to do.

So he followed little glowing bits for the better part of twenty minutes, when he found the curled shape on the forest floor. Stiles blinked a few times and the glows vanished, leaving his regular vision. He crouched down. Derek was still bleeding from the wounds and looked sick. Not as sick as when he was shot with wolfsbane, but seriously, he should have healed by now.

Derek looked to be asleep. Stiles sat down, not touching the other man, yet. He didn't want to be bitten or clawed. For all he knew, his magic might decide that repairing holes to his clothing was "against fate." Just like the other night when he wanted the remote control and it actively refused to do anything. What was the point of magic if he couldn't use it like the force to bring him objects he didn't want to get up for? It should have been enabling!

"Derek?" Stiles whispered. "You okay?" He watched the rise and fall of Derek's chest, counting the breaths. The breathing wasn't labored, which meant that his lungs hadn't be punctured or ruptured, or, if they had, they'd healed enough. Stiles didn't even give in to temptation to heal them. Not when Derek could sniff magic the moment it was released. Stiles wasn't ready for that secret to be revealed, not yet. No one knew about it, not even Scott—and he wouldn't tell his moon-hirsute friend until Mr. Crazy Alpha had stopped being crazy or was dead.

So instead, Stiles talked. Like he hadn't be able to with his father. Derek couldn't hear him anyway, and if he could, it would be as if it were a dream. But… it was something.

"Scott told me the alpha wanted him to kill us, so he could officially join his pack. He wanted to do it, he said. I could see it in his eyes, Derek. He would have done it, if it weren't for his little love affair with Allison. Not even a best friend."

He picked up a twig, twirling it between his thumb and forefinger. He watched Derek breathe, his eyes still closed. He looked so peaceful, sleeping like that. Stiles smiled to himself. He liked the idea of Derek being peaceful, not this raging machine of hate. He probably wasn't trustworthy, like Scott said, but at least Derek didn't want to actively murder him, and despite his gruff attitude, he hadn't hurt him or Scott.

"Also, you should lay low for a while. Scott, being a complete dumbass, may have mentioned you were in there after us. As in trying to kill us dead. Or scare us to death. Either really, both leading up to the same result. What I'm trying to say is that my dad will probably be looking for you. No, totally not my idea. Anyway, buddy, I should probably go. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. And to warn you, though what good that'll do if you're sleeping."

Stiles pulled out a slip of paper and pen and wrote down his name and phone number on it. Reaching down, he put it in Derek's hand and closed the fingers around it.

"In case you need me," Stiles said. He stood up, watching Derek again for a moment before walking away.

Not exactly caring where he went, he walked only away from the recovering werewolf. He needed to get far enough away that any traces of magic would dissipate before they could be discovered. Stiles looked up to the night sky. The tingling had increased since this afternoon, practically buzzing under his skin.

Black puffs and Stiles was back in his room. Go magic! He smiled, peeling off the layers of his clothes to get a steamy hot shower before bed time. He scrubbed away the gross feeling of fear he'd gotten from the girls and Jackson that night, scrubbed the feeling of inadequacy, the feeling of powerlessness and reveled until his skin turned bright pink under the hot water.

Toweling off, Stiles appraised his reflection, noticing he looked a bit thinner than normal, and counted that to all the extra running he'd had to do lately. After he was done cleaning up and wearing some pajamas, he turned off all the lights in the house save the porch light and a lamp in the living room for his dad. No sense in his dad getting hurt at home when his job was more dangerous.

He slipped between his covers, curling around a pillow and fell asleep, thinking of Lydia. His dreams, however, were of the forest, of short dark hair and green eyes.

* * *

Note: If you like this, please let me know, tell your friends, etc. and maybe follow me on tumblr?

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!

I'm aiming to post a chapter every day (or so), seeing as they are kinda short. There will be angst with the next Derek chapter.


	8. Ash and Dust

Notes: Unbeta'd so hopefully this makes sense. I think I caught most of the biggies. There is some overlap from the last chapter, time wise.

* * *

Derek lay in dirt and leaves, curled around himself, trying not to think too much about the pain. He felt half asleep and tired—the marks left by the alpha were slow to heal like he knew they would be. But after the initial toss, Derek was forgotten and he escaped here, to the woods. Police sirens had come and gone. He'd even heard Deaton rush through the trees when the police arrived, probably hoping to get home. And now, Stiles sat not two feet from him, rambling about Derek now being a fugitive, again—damn Scott. He hoped he was doing a good job of faking sleep. He'd done well enough as a kid to trick werewolf parents.

Suddenly, fingers were on his own and he was extremely grateful for the games he used to play. Stiles pried his fingers open, then placed some sort of paper, and closed them again. Stiles' hands were warm and comforting. They wrapped around his for a short time before he felt a little pat, and heard the younger man shift away.

"In case you need me," Stiles said.

Derek wanted to open his eyes, but he focused instead on the sounds and smells from the younger man. He didn't notice anything different, perhaps less of a medicinal smell and—concern. Derek wanted to smile at that. Stiles stood up and shifted his feet a few times before Derek heard him walk off in a different direction than he came in. _Odd._ He followed the sound of leaves crunching with his senses until he could hear them no more.

He felt better, mostly because it had been several hours since the razor sharp claws had dug into his back and protruded from the front of his body. So he lay there in leaves with no care for a little bit longer.

He dozed, in and out of consciousness, until he felt the seeping wounds close on their own. Still not completely healed, he sat up and uncurled his fist to look at the chicken scratch of Stiles' handwriting. In the moonlight, it was enough to see by. Thankfully he could make out the numbers and the name.

Derek shrugged. Well, it would be weird just to have a number, and Stiles wouldn't necessarily know he'd been awake. Which meant he'd faked sleep well enough. Waiting until morning seemed the best course of action before Derek texted Stiles his thanks or perhaps confusion. But mostly thanks at attempting to help. How had he found Derek anyway?

Best not to think of it too much. Or at all.

He stretched, working out the worst of the kinks in his back before using the tree to help him rise. He was still tired after healing that much, but he needed to get to safer territory, so he took off at a slow, careful walk to where his car was parked. Thanks to Stiles' warning he really couldn't just go in a diner or the grocery store, but he needed something to eat and fast food would have to do. _Drive through_. He hated even getting close to that stuff, but well, he was hungry and had to eat, and it was the only viable option at three in the morning when the entire police force was on alert.

Once he grabbed food (without incident) and parked his car well away from prying eyes, he ate ravenously, stuffing wrapper after wrapper into the brown, greasy bag on the floor. It tasted alright, but he knew he'd feel the effects tomorrow. He grabbed the bag, and got out of his car—no reason to have it reek tomorrow.

Cool night air brushed his skin. Instinctively looking up, Derek noticed it was nearing dawn. A few hours away and he wanted to get more sleep. He intending to dump the garbage in a trash can on the way back to the ruins of his once-home.

The quick walk through the Preserve was energizing and calming. By the time he opened the door, though, he was ready to sleep. He shucked his clothes, making a small heap near the pile of blankets he called a bed. He snuggled into the cold sheets and pulled the slip of paper from his pants pocket mere inches away.

He fingered the writing, letting his thumb trace the back edge where the pen had pressed into paper. How _had_ he be found? Derek was damn good at covering his tracks, though he supposed tonight he might have messed up for a hunter, but for a high school kid? Doubtful.

The thought hit him like a hammer strikes an anvil.

It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. Fated pairings were so incredibly rare that Derek had only heard stories of stories about them.

Paper drifted to dusty, ashy floor, as Derek's grip loosened.

Stories were wildly different about mates. Wildly. So random and so out there, Derek hadn't believed them, but it was the only thing that made sense. And when old stories made sense… the world was about to crumble.

He remembered his grandmother, her soft aged voice like the rustling of trees in a winter's breeze. She told him the ancient story, many many times of the Great Alpha and his powerful pack, only that he was lonely and to ease the loneliness, he increased his pack in numbers until, one day, he was about to turn another young man, and his brave sister stood up to defend her (nearly) helpless brother. He was so struck by her beauty and bravery that he let them both escape that night.

As the story went, the Great Alpha knew her, and had an uncontrollable desire to make her _his._ And so he did. But it took years tracking the pair down, as he attributed his initial desire as lust, not mating. When he was told by his second in command, he immediately knew the truth of his feelings. With the trail so cold, it was only through sheer will and following blind instinct that the Great Alpha find his mate and convince her to love him.

But that was a fairy tale. Derek knew that as a kid. What wasn't, was the intense love stories of his grandmother's mother, Greatgrandma Beatrice and the mate she'd found. If not for that, Derek wouldn't even believe that his mate was Stiles, of all people.

He pulled the blankets around him closer, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest and the constriction in his throat. Beatrice Hale (yes, the matron kept her family name) loved her husband Arthur so much that when he went off to WWII, she sniffed him out within two months (again attributing it to the bond of mates) and the two rarely left each other's side—she remained a nurse and almost succeeded in getting him out of active duty early.

The woods surrounding the school were large, and Stiles would have had no idea if Derek were alive or not. Knowing werewolves could heal, yes that may have given him optimism, and yes, the weakened state would give him reason to look near the school. But Stiles would have to go home first, and then come back right away to have found Derek so fast. And that lead him to the same conclusion. Derek had a mate.

If that were not enough, how could he explain the reason, the need to look out for Derek? It wasn't as if they were friends. They hardly knew each other, though Stiles had recognized him not long after he'd arrived back in Beacon Hills.

For the second time that night, Derek curled around himself, only this time, he couldn't control the wracking sobs. Pressure built with each inhale and tears flowed hot down his cheeks. He didn't deserve this.

He clawed his blankets tight, trying to cry as softly as he could into the fabric of his bedding. Tears stained and clouded his vision, turning the ash and broken home into some artistic photoshop wonder, until he squeezed the liquid from his eyes and the harsh truth of the fire and the deaths that took place assaulted him again. He throat was raw and sore, constricted. He chest heaved under the internal pressure. He still sobbed, shaking with every shuddering exhale.

After several painful minutes, he calmed himself down by taking measure breaths.

Derek Hale, murder of his whole family, did not deserve a mate, did not deserve something that special, that profound. Not after what he'd done. He didn't even deserve the life he barely held on to, but he was selfish with that.

Slowly, his breathing returned to normal, though he could feel a lump in his throat and a constriction in his chest. He would bear the pain and keep it close. It was the only thing tethering him to this world, and if he lost his edge…. And then where would the memories of his family be?

Derek reached out from his den of comfort and took hold of the piece of paper. How could something so innocent be something so cruel? Gently closing his hand over it, he clutched it to his chest. Tomorrow was soon enough to say thank you. He closed his eyes, concentrating on breathing, on filtering the sounds of the forest, the scent of ash, and let himself drift on the currents of breath, the continual rhythm, until he fell, truly, asleep.

* * *

Notes (v.2): If you like this, please let me know, tell your friends, etc. and maybe follow me on tumblr ( .com)

I hope this was angsty enough for a short Derek chapter.


	9. Stiles Gets It and Makes Bad Jokes

"You're still a shithead for kissing Lydia," Stiles said, staring at the racing game he was playing with Scott. "You know that right?"

"I told you, I'm sorry. It was the full moon talking." Scott mashed the buttons. "Can we not talk about this anymore, please?"

"I'm not looking at you Scott. No way. Now that you have really puppy eyes, nope." Stiles concentrated on zooming past Scott, two cars ahead. "Nada."

"Stiles… come on, you know I'm not a dog. And that was shitty what you did."

"I know." Stiles cracked a smile. "But you are pretty loyal—"

He peeked over to Scott of a second to see the curl of his lips before dropping the bomb.

"—to Allison."

Stiles laughed when Scott looked crestfallen.

"Oh, come on Scott. I have to give you shit for that whole thing."

"I know." Scott's shoulders slumped.

Stiles pressed hard on the accelerator button, passing Scott at the last second. The controller went flying as he leaped off the couch with a whoop.

"Hey," Scott said. "That's cheating. Making me feel bad so you could win."

Stiles shrugged. "I use the tactics I need to win." He bent down to set the controller on the coffee table. "Anyway, have you got a plan to steal the necklace?"

Stiles phone buzzed. Sourwolf.

-Heading over.

Stiles loved the nicknames in his phone. Scott was PuppyEyes. Had been for years.

"You know I don't want to do it," Scott said.

"She broke up with you, for the whole 'I'm going to kill you all' thing, and sorry she didn't like the pictures."

"Which was your idea, jerk."

"Hey!" Stiles said. "I didn't know she would go all cry and storm out."

"Well, I'm going to go over there soon. Isn't Danny coming over in a bit?" Scott grabbed his backpack.

Stiles sighed. "Oh. Um, yes. I still don't know how I'm going to get him to do it. But he'll be here."

Scott nodded. "I'll see you later then."

"You know she'll come back."

Scott offered him a sad little smile, shouldered his backpack and left. He heard his dad come in, right as Scott left. Stiles shut off the console and ran upstairs to his room to pretend he was doing homework.

And found Derek. _Talk about speed._

"Hey Stiles," his dad said, coming up the stairs. Shit.

"Yo, Der—Dad." Stiles said. Oooh crap. His brain went on autopilot, cruising through the short conversation, his only goal was to get his dad out of the house, out of the hallway. He gave his dad a quick hug, before bolting back into his room to be—

Shoved against the door by Derek.

"If you say one word—"

"Oh like what? Hey Dad, Derek Hale is in my room, bring your gun. If I'm harboring your fugitive ass, it's my house, my rules buddy."

Derek nodded, then straightened Stiles jacket in the process. Stiles felt the heat from Derek's hands, felt his strength. The magic under his skin began humming louder, vibrating with crazy intensity at the nearness of the older werewolf. That was supposed to mean something right?

To show he wasn't going to be pushed around, Stiles did the same. Derek leaned forward and at that moment, a memory popped in his mind.

—_was dark. Not completely, but dark enough it was difficult to see. Probably the whole mystic of the Seer business. She came here for once purpose, and one purpose alone. To make sure that the child she had inside was the one the Seer predicted._

"_Welcome, One Who Bears, to the dark world." The voice was scratchy, like it was ancient and parched. She didn't know if the Seer was a man or a woman. She didn't think anyone really _knew.

"_I accept your greetings and welcome, Seer."_

"_Heh heh heh," the Seer laughed. "Of course you do. You have a question for me, do you not?"_

"_Yes. I have a question. Is this child the child you predicted great things for?" She took a few more steps into the darkness._

"_My, my, my. You are worried. I forgot what that is like, when I know so much. Come closer."_

_She did as the Seer bid, closing her eyes and moving forward cautiously._

"_There."_

_She heard a huge intake of breath._

"_Yes, that is the child I predicted. This boy has great things in store for him. Unbelievable magic to compare to the greatest of the Highest Beings, friends both loyal and destructive. And above all that, he has a Concomitant who weeps because he has not been born yet."_

"_His Concomitant is already born?" She hoped the fear in her voice didn't agitate the Seer._

"_Yes. He is born of the Lesser Beings, to a family of werewolves. They are near you now."_

_She began to backup to go where she entered the room._

"_Wait!" The word was command. "Know that you must choose between protecting your son, and your duties. Your will is fate, but fate shows me every branch of your choosing. Now go."_

_She did not turn around, but soon was—_

"Whoa."

Derek Hale was right in his face. And _oh my god_! DerekHale, _Derek Hale,_ was his Concomitant? Holy shit. And Derek was right in his face and his lips… No. No. Derek probably didn't even know. And the whole door thing just a second ago—focus Stilinski.

"Scott's working on it." That would explain the whole magic going crazy when Derek first came into town. And every single time afterward.

Derek didn't seem too appeased. Stiles went into mild panic mode and treated this as a test. He was talking a mile a minute, until Danny showed up asking who the other guy was. _Oh my god._

"Um, my cousin… Miguel." Oh god. Miguel? Why did he have to chose that name—Who is like God (so apt). He almost blurted out the whole secret.

Danny peppered him further, until Stiles saw an opening to get Danny to trace that text. Having Derek change shirts, was _holy shit unbelievable muscle_ but Danny was staring too. So Derek went without one. And was he really playing like he didn't speak much English? Cute.

"You are a horrible person," Danny said.

"I know, it keeps me awake at night." Stiles had this one in the bag. Done and done, thank you very much. Now, why Scott's mom made the fake text… that was the next trick. Derek sat in the back reading some book or other, Stiles wasn't sure. It took an hour and a half to finish the lab work, and by then it was dark.

"Well, time for a snack before sleuthing. Can't sleuth on an empty stomach." Stiles stretched in his chair.

"A snack, Stiles? What is this, Scooby-doo?" Derek had set the book down and was giving him intense eye stare.

"Um, no. Oh god! Resist, Stiles, _resist_." Scooby snack. Oh god, the next time he saw Scott…

"Don't even say it." Derek gave him Stony Face.

He took a huge breath. "You want a sandwich buddy?"

Derek glared more, but said nothing more.

"Fine, if you don't want a Stilinski special, I won't force one on you." Stiles got up, and went downstairs. In moments, Derek was crowding his space until Stiles just shoved a sandwich in his hands.

"There ya go." Stiles shook his head.

"After this, it's the hospital. You're driving."

Stiles smiled. "Of course I'm driving. You're still wanted."

He wolfed (ha, wolfed) down his sandwich, grabbed his keys with Derek basically shadowing him the whole time, which, by the way, was so not helping him around the whole destined-to-be-together-forever thing. Not at all. Was Derek even gay?

* * *

Oh god. Cripple burned Peter Hale was the alpha? Mr. Crazy? Well, he was crazy, Stiles had to admit that. He just hoped Mr. Crazy was too busy pushing Derek around to notice the freaking magic man laying on the floor. That would have been bad news. Horrible news. Derek didn't even know, and probably thought… never mind. Stiles got up off the floor, pointedly ignored the pool of blood on the ground. With the whole thing of Derek-blood and Stiles-prints all over this potential crime scene, Stiles took a moment, and felt the magic below the surface of his skin and thought of his prints and Derek's disappearing and restoring the hospital. Clean up sucked, but with no werewolves about, he was going to use fucking magic to fix this. He didn't want Derek to go to jail. Thankfully, no warnings whispered at him. Why Peter took the body with him when he left with Derek…

Stiles looked around. Missing woman report and no crime? Check.

He stepped outside. _The game, fuck!_ He started toward his Jeep, when white mists blinded him for a moment before resolving into a small study. Somewhere.

An old, old man was seating in a leather chair, the wings coming up to the man's face. He looked over a hundred. He wore a flowing white robe with slashes of bright red. A name teased on the tip of his tongue. He should know this old dude.

Stiles looked around, noticing lots of dusty bookshelves and a low window with afternoon sunlight steaming in.

"Um. Not to say anything, but I'm kinda in a hurry."

"Mr. Stilinski, do not worry about time here. I suppose you are only familiar with High Councilman Aelfrick, our Keeper of Memories. He has mentioned the memories you were given are fickle. I am High Councilor Tarenn."

"Okay…"

"Have a seat. I realize that the situation in Beacon Hills may need some extra information that I should entrust to you."

Stiles took the only other seat, which happened to be directly across from Super Old Man Tarenn.

"Like? The whole Crazy Peter? Or the fact that Derek Hale, Mr. Crazy Alpha's _nephew_, no less, is my fairy-tale destined lover?"

"He's your Concomitant." The old man wiped his brow.

Stiles didn't think much about the word and what that implied. Everything that it implied. Why had he gone and said that about Derek anyway? He wanted to pace the ancient rug in this… whatever it was.

"Which makes me his, as well, right? Or in werewolf terms 'mate,' right? I can't believe this." He flailed his arms for emphasis, thwacking the back of the chair. Why was he fighting this so much?

"Precisely." Tarenn steepled his fingers.

"The whole thing with my mom? She knew since she was pregnant. I'm not… I'm not even gay am I? Do I have to be gay? Can I still like girls?"

"We've known for a while. You both are meant for each other." The old man looked into Stiles' eyes. "It's a rare occurrence and should be celebrated, not fought against. You may label it as you wish, but even your magic cannot sever the connection between you two."

Stiles let the words sink in. Celebrated? Well, if it had to be any one, he supposed Derek was better than Jackson or Scott or… Peter. They had known for seventeen years. Which meant—

"You let the fire happen." Stiles felt sick at the thought. That he had to say it out loud. Oh god.

"High Councilman Aelfrick should have explained that to you."

"But, that doesn't excuse it! How many innocents had to die that day? Could you have…?"

The old man wiped his forehead in irritation. "You may blame us all you want, Mr. Stilinski, but the fact of the matter is you were not trained."

"I wasn't trained."

"No."

Then Stiles knew. "Only an Inspector? If I had known?"

He nodded in agreement. "It was enough that we knew Mr. Hale would live. If he were to have died…we would have had to do something, no matter how rash. Concomitants are revered. Any Inspector would have stepped in and abandoned their own duties to protect him."

The old man shifts in his chair, looking tired.

"I'm sorry." Stiles fidgeted in his chair. "I can't believe it though. It seems so… far fetched. Like way out there. Like we either hate each other or he barely tolerates me. Today, he pushed me into my door. If you were creeping, which I'm guessing you were, you would have seen it."

The old man regarded Stiles again. "Our Seer did not say why. How Mr. Hale feels? That is for you to find out."

"What about Peter? I mean, I just met the guy and he's…creeptastic."

"He will fall. He was not meant to be the Alpha of the Hale pack, how he managed to move things around was probably due to Ms. Argent's meddling of the Code. You were awoken at Mr. Hale's need. And that draws us back to where we started. Your Concomitant."

"Yeah, pretty shaky isn't it."

"No, it isn't. No Higher Being can touch their power without first coming to the Highest Council." The man eyed him sharply. "Mr. Hale awoke your power just by being near. The fate of your love for each other is stronger than any restrictions we can have.

"You must attach yourself to Mr. Derek Hale, more so than you have." Tarenn took a deep breath. If it was possible he looked even older. "Today you noticed how much stronger you felt, no? He needs you as much as you need him. Magic is not something to be trifled with, Mr. Stilinski."

"So I've been told."

The buzzing underneath his skin, the vibration of magic had blossomed every time he was near Derek. And now…. He was being asked to date, no _gay werewolf marry,_ Derek Hale. Broody McBrooderson. Mr. No Emotions. Because, apparently they were star-crossed lovers. Fuck. Knowing his luck, Derek would have no clue or be so uptight about the whole you're-a-dude-I'm-a-dude gay thing.

"Just in case you were wondering, because I know you were, I haven't revealed anything to anyone—I've been careful. Even Peter may not have noticed with the craziness going on tonight. No one knows that I am some Inspector come down from high to make all right with the world in Beacon Hills."

"Good. Beacon Hills is a powerful nexus." High Councilor Tarenn paused for a moment as if considering something. "Your mother… she cared too much for you, and your father. She sacrificed herself to save Beacon Hills until you could inherit your powers."

At the thought of his mother, Stiles froze a little. The memory from this afternoon, what the Seer said about a choice….

"That was the choice she made. To save me."

High Councilman Tarenn nodded, looking relaxed for the first time since Stiles arrived.

"I should probably be going," Stiles said, looking around at the strange room more than he had when first summoned. More dusty books than he could count, though the room felt homey.

"No time has passed since you entered."

Stiles lit up. "Does that mean I get a free pass to stick around and ask questions or do some homework or something? Because, dude, I need to catch up after all this stuff going down. I mean, I'd appreciate it and—"

"No. You can't stay for much longer, but perhaps I can answer a few questions."

"Like why Peter Hale is trying to kill me or have someone else kill me half the time?"

"He probably does not know your powers. Though he may want to offer you the bite, to entice your friend, Mr. McCall."

Stiles reared back. "You mean…? Werewolf? That's a bad idea. Aelfrick mentioned that. Ten minutes."

"He may not know that though. We do not like to advertise a weakness."

"He knows I have magic?"

"Perhaps. If he has been rational and in control it is possible. If not, you may be able to play the card as a surprise. Last question."

Stiles thought a moment. Ever since Scott was bitten, what, not that long ago, he'd been trying to reverse the effects of the bite for one Allison Argent. He had to know. "Scott can't be cured then, can he? I mean, I thought about it and…"

The man shook his head, his eyes betraying remorse or something mournful. "He has been bitten for a reason that I cannot reveal. Our Seer has told me to inform you that you must not let Mr. McCall kill Mr. Peter Hale—though that is the plan you all have. Mr. Derek Hale must become the Alpha."

God all that politeness.

Shock hit Stiles. If Derek were to become the Alpha, then—"He'll be able to smell me. He'll know I've lied about everything I have."

"It is a calculated risk. He will know you smell different, but he won't automatically associate that will magic—all his senses will be heightened. It may take him time. Remember that he is new and a lore has been lost. You must be close to him. With or without Mr. McCall. Mr. Hale needs you, and you need him. "

The old man motioned for Stiles to stand, so out of respect for Methuselah, no, Tarenn, he stood. The High Councillor made a few strange symbols in the air and waved them toward Stiles. The old stuffy library melted around him in white mists and he was standing just outside the hospital once again.

Derek Hale, his Concomitant. Having been told was… nice. How were they expected to get close? Warmth spread through his chest. Hopefully, Derek would feel the same thing. He hadn't been really fighting it, just tried to figure the whole thing out.

He jumped into his Jeep.

On the drive over to Beacon Hills High School, Stiles tapped his hands against the steering wheel. It wasn't that Derek was a complete asshat. He was certainly overprotective of him, and had a soft heart. That was why he liked the sourwolf. Burgeoning muscles and a chiseled jawline didn't hurt. _Oh god_, was he really thinking about Derek like… that? He still liked Lydia—not as much since Scott lied about her liking him and the whole kiss thing. He would have to be careful to make this work without telling anyone—no one need a Big Gay Crisis on top of a Big Magic Crisis. And now that he found he actually liked Derek Hale, like _liked _the guy. Could today get any weirder?

* * *

I felt like I needed to kinda split this up. Didn't want to go into too much detail that was in the show, but... I needed to bring in a bit from the scenes.

I think I caught most of the errors, and a lot of this is just sitting in my head already explained (and some of it isn't yet, not even to me!)

The second half of this chapter was the second (I think) bit I wrote so hopefully it fits in well enough.

Hope you liked this chapter. It's our first one with Derek and Stiles together! Next update is Derek. Not sure what is happening yet, though I have a vague idea of Kate showing up. It's a mystery every day for me too!

You can find me on tumblr where I blog about this, other stuff, and reblog Teen Wolf things.


	10. Captured Werewolf

WARNING! This scene contains some non!con (non-consensual) touching. Just wanted to let you know. I consider it non!con, even though it isn't particular graphic, it's still invasive.

Also, this scene has some minor violence. Also, sorry for all the time breaks.

* * *

"Scott get out!" Derek saw the stupid kid wasn't going to leave, so he made an impulse decision. Jackson was long gone, and good riddance. The fear alone…

Derek opened the door of his once-home, and saw a half-dozen hunters. He roared his annoyance and hatred. And of course, Kate Argent had come along to collect her prize. He chucked his jacket to the side, and charged at the crowd.

Bullets flew around him, some piercing his arms and legs. He took the two closest hunters down—one with a trip, the other with an elbow to the face (not enough to kill of course, no point in giving them a reason). He heard Kate's shout and turned toward her only to feel lighting burning into his veins.

Pain wracked his body and his muscles spasmed. The shock of the electricity shorted out his powers. Boots stepped toward him, crushing the dried leaves on the ground.

"—off. We have what we came for, boys." Her musical voice grated against his ears. If Scott wasn't Stiles best friend… ."Can't stay out of trouble, can you?"

Blonde hair obstructed her traitorous face. Derek bared his teeth, fangs and all, at her. He hated her more than he hated anyone. His blood burned at the though of closing his fists around her throat… to tear. He wanted to watch her blood spray free for what she did; at the same time he wished she were never born.

"Now, now, sweetie, that's just not the look this season." She showed him the wand, then dragged the tip across his torso. It caressed his skin, cold and metallic, before she turned it on and he felt as if the sun exploded inside of him for hours and hours on end. Blackness came too quick; black wasn't fast enough.

* * *

Derek woke up, alone, in some sort of holding cell. It was still dark, and he doubted he'd been out more than a couple hours. His arms ached from being chained above him. Though he could move his hands and elbows, it was not quite enough to work out the ache building up between his shoulder blades.

He relaxed as much as he could in the situation. No one was around. Looking around, he had the sudden suspicion he knew where he was. God.

The Argent bitch hadn't taken him more than a few dozen feet. He was in his own basement. Equipment that didn't belong to his family—most likely Kate's personal torture devices—sprawled over what had been the Hale's full moon chamber. Well, chamber for those that couldn't control their own transformation. He'd spent countless moons down here with his mother when he was young, and more when he was first in middle school. It had been so long and he'd never bothered to look here after returning the fire.

Derek heard footsteps coming down the old tunnel. Just one set. They were too damn familiar. They stopped just outside the door.

Click.

The door was opening with a slight rattle. Kate stood there for a moment, still in her gray tank-top and skinny jeans. She had no weapons on her. It grated him that she was so sure of herself, knew everything. He wanted to see her crumble.

"Oh, Derek." She walked in, closing the door behind her. She turned the spot lights on him, fiddling with a little of the equipment.

"Silent treatment?" She tsked. "You were never one to really talk. Maybe that's why it was so easy. Getting you to trust me."

He watched every move she made. If he was going to die, he wanted to know it. She tapped her fingernails careless against the voltage controller wired to his side. She sighed, coming closer to him.

She smelled exactly the same: confident, floral, and off. It took a while to notice the off, but it was still there. She wasn't right in the mind, not since he'd known her. She crowded into his space, laying her fingers gently on the chains half-holding him up.

"Comfortable enough, sweetie? I want to make sure you are at peak performance for when my beautiful, darling niece comes to pay you a visit. Don't you want to make a nice impression for her?"

She checked the other side before moving on to the rest of the equipment.

Derek held his tongue. He did not want to play into her hands. Not again. Never again.

"Still not talking? You know, I have all night." She laughed. "For you, I've always had all night. Now, if you're not going to talk now, perhaps I can get you pissed off to growl for me when I bring her. Oh man, you make it so easy Derek."

Kate surveyed the room. "You know. This wasn't my favorite place, but it certainly holds good memories for me."

She sauntered up to him.

He wanted nothing more than to get away from her, get away—perhaps after mauling her (but that would involve touching)—and curl up next to Stiles. Stiles was comforting, even if they didn't know each other as much as he wanted to.

Kate extended her finger, ready to touch him. She stopped just shy of his bare, sweaty skin. Her could feel her breath on him and it turned his stomach.

"I hate you."

"Oh, Derek. Sweetheart. I already knew that." She laid a few fingers on him, slowly tracing them down his lower abdomen. She stopped just at the waistline of his jeans.

He shut his eyes, trying desperately to not see or feel or smell her, trying instead to focus on the moments in Stiles' bedroom the other night, trying to remember the way he felt against the door, his heady scent (when had it turned heady? after he found out?), and the way his lips curled right before he told a particularly stupid joke or had a terrible idea—and he told lots of stupid jokes and had hordes of terrible ideas.

Then her hand plunged down his jeans and grabbed a hold of him, her hand a vice. He growled and snapped his fangs at her, writhing away from her grip. She rubbed her finger tips over his tip, her smile absolute poison. He squirmed, letting out a roar of humiliation and pain.

"This used to be fun, Derek. No need to be shy." She laughed, then let him go. "Make sure to give a proper performance for me, sweetie."

Her smile was pure evil as she screwed the voltage knob over. "I want the last face you see to be mine."

He blacked out.

* * *

"I don't want to torture you," she said. "But he does."

Kate walked away.

An older man, heavy-muscled, like he'd been a prize fighter for years, walked in and cracked his knuckles. Like he'd enjoyed it. Sick bastard hunters.

"Leave him in good enough shape," she said. Turning back to Derek, she gave him her most winning smile. "I'll see you later, precious."

The man gave him a grimace—like the guy couldn't smile. Derek ignored the man as much as he could. If he had laser eyes, he would have loved to have burned a whole through Kate Argent. If he could keep the secret between Scott and Allison, perhaps Scott—and by extension Stiles—would be safe. After seeing his family burn, even those he was rough with, he wanted to be okay.

The man started with his fists. Derek resisted the urge to laugh. The guy packed a decent punch, heck, could probably give an omega a run for their money, but Derek was used to so much more pain. Compared with the death of his family… this was nothing.

Each beating almost healed by the time the second punch came, even with the minor currents of electricity running through him at the moment.

After a good fifteen minutes, the man rolled his shoulders and picked up a baseball bat. Derek nearly choked when he saw it. No singe marks blemished the wood, but he would have known that bat anywhere. He'd used it for years to play with his friends during the long summer days of his youth. He remember Kate had taken an interest in it, and wanted to borrow it for "protection," she had claimed.

So, perhaps she hadn't lied about not turning him straight, but perhaps her vindictiveness came about because she actually loved him. He did laugh at that.

The big man's eyes went wide, then narrowed and he hit Derek as hard has he could, cracking a couple ribs before Derek blacked out again. What a wonderful way to spend time…

* * *

Kate kept with the questions, talking about his guilt. Damn. She was making the connection. First starting with Jackson… what a fool. He wanted to shout that he was _never_ in love with her. Never. He almost snorted. How could he be in love with anyone else when he had a mate his entire life who lived so close by?

"He's not in love with Allison… not like Scott."

Fuck.

"Oh Derek, you should have said something sooner. Detective work is not for me. I'm an action kind of girl." She smiled up at him.

"Still not talking? Well, don't worry. You aren't obsolete just yet. Once we have Scott, oh man, life is gonna be beautiful."

Kate flipped her phone about. She smelled absolutely pleased with herself. She pressed a few buttons.

"Chris?" she said.

"Where the hell are you Kate."

"Wow, so cranky. I just thought I'd give you a piece of information you may want to know."

"Kate. Answer me."

"Oh, come on. Stop looking at Jackson as the second beta, and look a little closer to home."

She tapped her fingers on the desk, poking at Derek's jacket.

"Let me put it this way, dear brother. Your daughter is dating a werewolf. Now, how about you take a look after my favorite niece at this little dance of hers. I've got more… business to attend to. Bye."

She hung up, tossed her phone on the makeshift desk and turned back to Derek.

"He does have the most adorable puppy-dog eyes, Derek. Really. I can't believe I didn't see it sooner."

Tapping her chin in thought, she walked slowly toward him.

"He's adorable, perhaps that's why you are protecting him."

Derek clenched his jaw to keep from saying anything about Stiles.

"But if he's in love with Allison, what does that get you, sweetie? Haven't we been down this road before? You're here because of me. You're here because you let me in. No way I could transform you to what you so desperately wanted to be. And falling in love with a sixteen year old?"

He snorted. "Taking one right out of your handbook." If it wasn't Scott, he could at least play along.

"Oh really. Loved? More like played." Her smile was wicked.

Lifting a blunt nail, she scratched a light circle around Derek's left nipple. He snarled.

"How I've missed your snarling and growling and hating me every time we fucked. Too bad I have actual business to attend to. I'd certainly love another go around before I put a bullet to your head like the rabid dog you are."

She forced him to look in her eyes.

"Good night, Derek. And sweet dreams."

Her laughter trailed behind her, echoing down the dark hallways of the basement. Finally, silence. He could be in peace for at least a few minutes.

He thought of Peter—his apparently insane uncle—and how he could take him down. Pretending to work along with him only furthered his own goal. He only hoped Stiles would help out—if not for Derek, then at least for Scott. The instant Peter was down, he would be the alpha. Poor Scott really was dumber than nails to believe the crap he was spouting about a cure. Manipulation wasn't his finest skill, but it had worked in this instance. Of course, when dealing with Scott, yeah. Wasn't the hardest. _Allison Allison Allison_ was all the kid thought about.

Derek closed his eyes, just for a little bit. Perhaps he could get a little rest, even chained up like he was. He needed the rest. He hoped that someone would come for him soon. _Come on Stiles, you traced one text, can you trace a phone?_

* * *

I didn't expect to really enjoy writing her, but my god, she is like pure evil. So great to used as a character foil. I felt the need to make her even worse and more evil than she is in the show.

Tell me how I did on this.

I hope you liked this update. Follow me on tumblr. ^_^


	11. Master Plan

Stiles leaned against the wall of the gym—seriously, why did the school have to use the gym for these kinds of activities? It always smelled a bit funny. He sighed, a little let down. After all, his fantasy from years had come true tonight. Lydia and him, dancing, _slow dancing_, at the Formal. Lydia and him talking. Lydia was with him.

He closed his eyes, imagining her form draped lightly over his body, her arms warm around his shoulders. How powerful he felt with her slender form so close to him. He bit his lips and shut his eyes agains the churning in his stomach. And yet it didn't feel like he thought it would.

He turned around and slammed his fist into the wall, letting out a choked sob.

It took him a moment to compose himself, before he felt ready to face the crowd again. He wiped his eyes on his cuffs and hit his head lightly against the wall. He sank to the floor and sat with his back supported by the wall.

"Is it really that bad, Stiles?" he said to himself. "It's not like you don't have some other fated lover out there waiting for you."

Then why did it still hurt? He leaned back and closed his eyes. He imagined what it would be like to slow dance with Derek. Would he lead? Or would he let Stiles lead? Thinking of Derek… one arm around his waist, one arm around his shoulders….

Stiles sighed again. A different kind of ache filled his chest, one that was the ache of desire he was so familiar with; the new feeling pushed out the pain of rejection. He really liked Derek. He wanted Derek right here to cry into his shoulder about how it sucked to be rejected by Lydia—how ironic, right? Turning to his Concomitant to whine about being pushed away by someone else?

Stiles dug out his phone. No messages. Nothing from Derek—so he was still trapped. Even thinking about magic caused his head to ache. Apparently these events were supposed to happen. Stiles didn't care, Scott had left the auditorium already to go play hanky-panky with Allison. So there was no one here to smell him work.

He thought of Derek, summoning up his mind's image of the werewolf. He queried the magic, asking if Derek was in danger or pain. Suddenly, his mind was filled with images of a dark cell-type area with electric equipment and the stern face of Kate Argent before he reeled from the coursing electricity and fell back to the gym and pulsing music.

Stiles got up, quickly texting Lydia if she'd found Jackson. He wanted some fresh air.

Leaving the tinseled doors—how tacky—behind, he nearly ran into Jackson. Who had no idea where Lydia was, nor that she was looking for him. He mentioned hunters in the woods just outside of school, where Scott probably was with Allison. Stiles shook his head.

"Gotta go," Stiles said to Jackson.

He had the sinking feeling that Lydia was in danger. Well, if he didn't exactly love her anymore, he could still be her friend, right? Stiles walked outside, looking to the left and right. If he were Lydia where would he go to find Jackson …. The lacrosse field, of course!

Stiles took off at a jog. She couldn't be that far away.

Suddenly, he couldn't move, as if he'd been incased in steel air. Aelfrick popped into place right in front of him. Awkward. Mid-stride, Stiles probably, no, definitely, looked ridiculous.

The older High Councilman looked up and down at him.

"Going somewhere, Stiles?"

"Was planning on it, until you froze time."

Aelfrick smiled. "Well, you don't have much, so I thought I wouldn't waste any of it. The Seer has sent me, as apparently I'm now the messenger between the Highest Council and you. Lucky me."

"Don't take it out on the messengee."

"Funny, Stiles, funny. Tonight, you must help Derek become the alpha. Nudge Scott to search for him. You have the unpleasant duty of helping the current alpha find Derek. Don't worry, you're on your way to him right now."

"Lydia!"

Aelfrick rolled his eyes. "You should really be more worried about Derek."

"I checked up on him. He's alive and not in danger. Well, not much anyway."

"Before you rush to the field, _encourage_ Scott to find Derek. Magic will guide you. Then you can rush off to save Lydia."

Stiles would have nodded but he was still frozen. Definitely not as nice as the other dude's time freezing.

"Roger that, pal."

Aelfrick smirked, then puffed out with black mists.

His leg slammed down and his other kicked forward. It took him a moment to not faceplant, but he slowed down, falling down to his knees. He searched under his skin, and teased the magic out, concentrating on Scott, images of his friend running through the woods. He felt too scattered to influence (how could he even do it?) right now, but Stiles tried.

A lone wolf howled their location … right?

He nudged Scott toward the animal clinic, thinking of the dogs howling at Scott's loss, the idea to enter Scott's mostly fiberfill head.

Stiles broke his concentration. Scott would know what to do. Confluence of events, and yay. Hopefully he helped his friend enough, hopefully Scott would free Derek and they could both work on taking down Peter Hale.

Stiles jumped up and continued running toward the field. He heard Lydia call out Jackson's name. Stiles felt the the last vestiges of romantic love for her slip away and fade. Even with that first loss, this made him over aware she didn't care for him. And he had Derek waiting, right?

Now, how to make sure he was going to be in the action. He couldn't just pop in …. Maybe Jackson? It could work.

* * *

"You made the correct choice in helping me out, Stiles," Peter said. "I am not the bad guy here."

Stiles didn't say anything.

"You are worried about your friend, aren't you? Don't. If she survives she be a werewolf—a powerful one." Peter smiled.

"She'll try to kill me once a month," Stiles said, keeping his eyes on the road. Why Peter wanted to go to parking structure near the mini-mart, he had no idea.

"Two. She's a woman."

Stiles blinked and looked to Peter. "Ha ha. Very funny. I didn't know werewolves could make jokes."

"You're basing this on…?"

"Scott and Derek." Stiles re-gripped the wheel a few times.

Peter snorted. "What a comparison. You have Clueless Number One and Damaged Goods as your basis?"

"Well, hey, it's not as if I know more than those."

Stiles saw Peter turn toward him, but he resisted looking over. Peter was… creepy for sure. But he seemed normal-ish at the moment—not some free-for-all murderous wolf-man.

"And don't say that I know you, because I don't."

Peter laughed. "You don't have to _know_ me. But you are aware that you know another werewolf, and if I can make jokes, then not all werewolves are serious." He paused. "Well, all the time. I know when I can have fun."

"Uh."

Peter remained silent for a few minutes. Stiles felt completely uncomfortable around him. Soon, they pulled into the parking garage and Stiles parked when Peter told him to. Stiles was aching to use some magic voodoo or something, but he didn't feel like testing his luck with Mr. Crazy. Besides, he probably needed to rely on wits and other things rather than just magic—though it was damn annoying when it failed to work or the cacophony in his head was just too much.

"Now," Peter began. "We're going to track your friend's phone. Smart of Derek to get me a way to find him. Though Derek does like being independent."

He pulled out a computer and a cellular wifi hotspot device.

"Are all werewolves Mac guys or just you." Stiles was curious. He wanted to know. It was a sweet laptop.

"Stiles." Peter looked annoyed.

Stiles got to work, set up the wireless network, loaded the website Scott had told him about. He needed to stall, not just give in yet. He was waiting until Scott howled, but that may take some time. He wanted to make sure Peter would be there, but not too soon. Derek needed to be free by the time the alpha arrived. Stiles had a plan and had to stick to it.

"I don't know his username or password."

Peter smirked. "He's your best friend. So good a friend that he gave you his username and password."

"No really, I don't know it."

Peter sighed. "You know, I'm tired of people lying to me. Why?" He address the area around him. "Why lie _when I can hear it_, Stiles? Why bother. Enter the information. I would dislike you forcing me to do something unpleasant."

Stiles held on as long as he could, until Peter started glaring.

"I only have so much patience, Stiles."

Stiles said nothing, just typed slowly, so that Peter could read what he was typing.

Allison.

He hit the tab key, glancing over at Peter.

Allison.

"Still want him in your pack?"

Peter rolled his eyes.

It took a few moment for the GPS to kick in. Perhaps Derek wanted Stiles to find him and rescue him, but apparently that was Scott's duty. The browser loaded a map of the Beacon Hills area in satellite images.

_Come on Scott. Hurry up._

"Why are they keeping him at your house?" Stiles was confused. Had Derek been in plain sight the whole time?

"Not in. Under. I know exactly where that is."

A howl sounded. Scott. Stiles exhaled in relief. Finally. Thank god Scott got the message. In a moment, another howl, deeper and older came. Derek.

"Looks like I'm not the only one." Peter looked pissed. Like super pissed. "Give me your keys."

Stiles handed them over, resigned to Peter destroying his baby. He quickly mentioned her quirks before Peter grabbed them and let them go right back in Stiles hands. Bent all to hell. Damn werewolf strength.

Peter pulled out his keys from his leather trench coat. He paused a moment when Stiles tried to stall more.

"I'll give you something in return, for helping me—however unwillingly. Do you want the bite?"

"No." Stiles heartbeat jumped. If Peter knew…. "I don't want to be like you."

"You are lying to yourself." Peter grabbed his wrist, a grin spreading across his face. "I know you're little secret, Highest Being. Don't think for a second I didn't ever know. But it seems like you are unwilling or untrained in your powers. Or perhaps you have some other plan in mind."

The smile Peter gave him turned his stomach.

"You don't know anything, Peter." Stiles tried to wrench his hand free from the alpha's iron grip.

"Oh, but I do. You see, I'm not some teenager 'messing' in affairs—however unmagically you may be trying to do it. I know about all about my nephew and … I'm surprised I didn't see it before. You and he, destined. Well, he'll be so _happy_ to know."

"Don't you dare—" Stiles stiffened, his wrist hurt from the pressure.

"Tell him? Stop me." Peter laughed. "And I know the Concord very, very well." Peter peeled back the shirt cuff, exposing bare wrist. "The thing is, you can't stop me. Thanks to the Concord."

He didn't know about Inspectors—or perhaps that Stiles was one. He closed his eyes. Hot teeth bit down before he could think about using magic. Stiles felt sick, like he was weakening. He opened his eyes, staring down the alpha.

"That is where you are wrong." Stiles pulled at the waning magic under his skin, expelling the werewolf bite with a thought that sent him buckling to his knees. The shouts were intense, but Stiles didn't care—with the curse out, he could work magic easier (and would not turn, thus losing everything his mother worked for). His veins boiled with pain. Peter laughed. Stiles pulled at more magic and shoved Peter against the concrete wall. Anything more would ruin his plans.

Peter's eyes went wide, his body tense under the magic. "You are …!"

Stiles stood up, ignoring the sharp pains still burning through him from the use against the alpha bite. "Yes. You won't remember this though."

He took aching steps to Peter. His hand touched the other man's forehead, the skin cool compared the flames he felt under his own skin. He willed the last bit of magic he had to clear the memories from Peter of the last of the encounter, erasing the knowledge of who and what he was. The voices whispered in his head, but he ignored them.

Peter was let go from the concrete wall and Stiles slumped to the ground. It took a moment for Peter to return from the memory loss as his brain filled in the missing moments.

The alpha sneered. "Weak human. Next time you are offered the bite, you should take it."

He got in the car and drove away, leaving Stiles in the cooling structure, spent and exhausted. He had no magic left, nothing. How was that possible? He had to get to the hospital, Lydia would there, and if Lydia was there, Jackson would be waiting and ready for revenge. So far, his plan was working.

* * *

Not that it is necessary, but I wanted to purge the whole Lydia feels from Stiles. I think he gets it in the show, but now, he has something less to hold him back from our favorite sourwolf!

I should have another chapter out by Monday. Please let me know what you think. I really enjoy the kudos and love comments.

You can find me on tumblr whining about life (sometimes), writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys.


	12. Vendettas Avenged

Derek didn't know how much longer he would be able to survive in the battered basement he once called home. He hadn't eaten in a couple days, but the hunters always made sure he was well hydrated. To better conduct electricity. It didn't matter that he knew, he drank every drop he could.

A howl, a wolf's howl, echoed from the bluffs in the hills not far from the house. Scott. Derek knew Peter's howl well enough. Now that he knew someone was looking for him and wouldn't abandon him ….

Derek howled back.

He'd been patient, waiting for Peter to rescue him, but this was better. Scott was actually proving himself useful. Though, when Derek gave it more thought, it was probably Stiles that suggested it. Which meant Stiles might be here to see him like this. He was suddenly ashamed of his inability to free himself, especially when his mate could be in danger.

He had a _mate_. He had to hold on, if only for Stiles.

Scott soon ran into the chamber, slashing through just one set of chains. Derek worked out the kinks as he heard heavy footfalls coming toward them wondering what it was that Scott had planned.

"Hide Scott. Quick."

Derek's friend—the guy who came to beat him up really—returned. The man was looking particularly pleased with himself today.

"I heard some howls. Just want to make sure if your howling, it's in pain from me and this lovely bat Kate provided."

He hefted the bat. "Nice to have a little help, isn't it?"

Derek smiled. "Yes."

The man looked surprised. It was the first time Derek had said anything. So he swung the bat and Derek caught it in his hand. Scott came from behind and knocked the man out cold. Derek wanted to get down from here.

"So why did you decide to help me?"

"I have an offer," Scott said. "You help me bring down Peter. He's going after Allison and her family. He's going to kill them."

Derek wanted to laugh. Good-riddance. He wouldn't be killed for it. "So what? You can't stop him. Get me out of here before Kate comes back."

"Promise you'll help."

Derek couldn't handle this idiot anymore. "You want me to risk my life for _her._ For her family?You're not in love scott, you're sixteen. You are a child."

Scott said nothing. He actually believed he was in love. Derek took a breath to calm himself down. Now that he had a chance a freedom ….

"Peter killed your sister. On purpose. I can prove it." He pulled out the newspaper clipping he'd seen Laura reading, the one that brought her here. The one that robbed him of another family member. "See this? He knew what he was doing."

"Where did you get this?"

Scott turned around. "My work. Someone asked Deaton about it."

Derek slashed at the other manacle, freeing himself. "I'll help you." Good. Scott was putting things together. This would help when he would join Derek's pack after he became the alpha. Stiles must have done a hell of a job convincing Scott to rescue him with all this information—but this didn't have the feel of Stiles on it. No, Scott cared only about Allison, and protecting people who didn't deserve it. Perhaps Deaton had nudged the boy?

They were up and out of the basement, heading toward the main part of the house hidden between the trees. Derek had to stall Scott until Peter arrived—and that would be soon enough.

"It's almost as if it's been—"

"Don't say it." Scott yelled. "Don't you dare say. None of this has been easy."

Scott ranted further but Derek smelled Kate. Damn. When he'd just gotten free. She wasn't alone which meant …. Pain bloomed in his arm, and a second shot whistled straight into his upper thigh. Fuck. Kate was standing there whispering instructions to Allison.

"Next, the flash."

Derek shut his eyes, yelling for Scott to do the same. He couldn't take either down, not with arrows in him. He heard the explosion, waited a moment, then opened his eyes, grasping at the arrows and he ripped them from his flesh with grunt.

He looked over at Scott, staring at the space in front of him, like he couldn't believe that his girlfriend—an Argent, no less—would be shooting at him. Derek wanted to laugh, but the situation was too dangerous. He stumbled up, grabbed hold of Scott and dragged him toward the safety of the house. If they could get in, he might have a chance to heal.

Scott was staring. Footfalls crunched leaves behind him. Derek threw Scott toward the house and collapsed to the ground. He couldn't heal fast enough to escape the moment. He needed a distraction.

"I thought we were going to capture them." Allison's voice was sweet, unlike Kate's.

"Yeah, capture them, and then kill them." Kate pointed the gun at Derek and fired.

The bullet passed through, just under the arrow wound on his shoulder. Derek stilled, black leeching his vision. He didn't want to draw attention to himself. He slowed his breathing, going toward a resting place to heal faster, like he had been taught. He listened to the the conversations around him when he felt strength return. Getting shot by arrows or guns was never pleasant.

"Kate, I know what you did." Chris Argent was here. And he _knew_? How?

"Put the gun down. Before I put you down."

A gun went off. Derek heard Scott's heart rate slow down and Kate's pick up.

Where was Stiles?

The door to the house creaked open, and Derek knew Peter was here. So he had also found Derek. He had the feeling something was going to happen, something big. He bolted up and silently ran toward the back of the house. He'd healed enough, but if he was going to fight Peter and become the alpha, he needed to recover more. He jumped up to the second floor and found a spot where he could hear what was happening and lay down.

Bodies hit the soft, leaf-covered ground in rapid succession.

"Come on!" Kate screamed.

Derek felt his lips curl up. Oh how fearful that sounded. It sounded so damn good.

Several shots were fired into the air and bone broke under a crack of a hand. Kate smelled like pain, and Derek couldn't resist smiling.

The front door opened and Peter dragged Kate through, his claws on her neck. He could have hugged Peter at that moment and forgiven him. But Derek still owed Laura. He shuffled a little closer to see. Allison stood there, tears brimming in her eyes.

"She is so beautiful. Say you're sorry and I'll let her live, Kate."

Derek waited, his breath held. He watched the scene through a broken board on the floor. He listened to Kate's heartbeat. It was still steady, if elevated.

"Sorry."

Derek heard the lie. Peter looked like he wanted the words, like he could live even though they weren't the truth. He wished it were his claws upon her throat, his claws that would take her life. But Peter? He could take care of himself against hunters.

Derek saw the claws extend more, digging into Kate's neck. And he ripped.

Blood splattered all over the broken room, surprise written on Kate's face as the life fled her body. Peter looked pleased, looked so happy. The vengeance had been finished. Derek fingered his wounds—they were healed. He was ready to take on the alpha, but he had a plan to make sure that Scott would not take that from him.

"That apology didn't sound sincere," Peter sighed.

Soon Scott was there, below, standing in front of Allison. Oh how perfect that was. Derek's speech earlier—the boy must have wanted to prove something, that his love was special. Well, Derek didn't care, as long as it got him what he needed.

Derek crept down the stairs, shifting as he went. Now, he would stand by Scott to help take down Peter.

The fight was a blur: Derek pounced on Peter, trying to bat him off Scott. Then he'd go flying, and Scott would take up the flank trying to take the alpha down. Peter began involuntary shifting, his anger starting to take over. Derek growled and lunged again.

This time Peter, annoyed, slammed him hard against the wall. Derek was out of breath, and needed to heal some of the broken bones and bruises. He lay still, feigning. Scott and Peter still fought, though soon Scott was thrown out of the house through one of the front windows. Peter was toying with them, that he knew.

Derek saw his uncle fly through the window outside. He crawled to watch, his beaten body healing quickly. He'd need some serious food after all this.

A car pulled up: Jackson's Porsche. Derek smelled Stiles in the car with the young lacrosse captain. Good. Stiles being here meant that the alpha would go down. He watch his young mate toss what could only be a Molotov cocktail.

Peter caught it.

"Oh, damn," Stiles said, backing up.

Stiles looked like he was struggling with some internal decision when Scott tossed Allison her bow. She let loose a true arrow. The glass exploded and set Peter aflame. Derek winced from the sudden burst. He remember the same smell, the same stench from back then. So it was all connected?

Jackson threw the second cocktail. On impact is set the rest of Peter ablaze. His screams were half wolf, half human: pitiful and tormented. Derek snuck to the doorway waiting for his moment to strike the alpha and take those powers for himself.

Peter stumbled off, his skin torched and in pain. Derek knew he would heal again if the power wasn't taken from him. Derek waited, his eyes on Scott.

He smirked.

Scott only had eyes for Allison. As she leaned in to kiss him—perhaps he had been mistaken—Derek moved to kneel over Peter. He knew what he had to do.

"Derek!" Scott yelled. "Wait! You said the cure come from the one who bit you?"

Derek ignored him. What was he waiting for?

"I can smell it on you." Peter eyes began shifting to red.

"Wait!" Scott sounded so desperate.

Derek's claws extended and his slashed the throat of his last living family relative. He sighed in relief at revenge complete. It was short, but sweet.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling the sudden onrush of power. The last of his bruises and pain melted in an instant. He healed much faster. He could smell so much more, pick out individual scents from each human to the minutest degree. Sounds he had never heard before creeped into his ears. A squirrel shifting in its sleep some half mile away.

It was beautiful.

Derek opened his eyes. His vision was clearer, sharper. Stiles watched him, his usual open face unreadable. Scott smelled and looked like a broken man.

Derek stood. He felt so powerful, so strong. He could see the allure of it, the desire now, to be alpha. Tentative strands connected him to Scott. He saw how he could make the beta listen and heel if he needed.

"I'm the alpha now," he said.

Scott howled in torment, ready to rush him. But Allison held out her hand.

"We need to go Scott." Her voice was musical as well, like Kate's. But tempered and softer.

Scott turned to her, his body shifted back to human. He nodded. Allison took his hand the stopped.

"Dad?" She sounded so small. "Kate?"

"I'll take care of it. You go home with Jackson and Scott."

She nodded, her dark curls covering her face. Derek leaned against the tree, waiting for the people to disappear so he could also bury his uncle properly. He was still family, though he would have a different place.

"I can only take one person," Jackson said.

"You take my car then," Chris said, handing Allison his keys. "I'll take Kate's home."

Soon he was left with the Argent man, and two dead, one on each side.

"How did you know," Derek asked, his voice quiet. "You finally believed."

"Stiles." The hunter said nothing more and went into the house. Derek picked up the body of Peter, taking him to the back of the house.

Chris was talking to a woman on his phone. He was asking for some sort of go ahead, and arguing for leaving the pendant.

Derek pulled up several floorboards and dug a deep enough grave. He spread the dirt around the crawlspace under the house, then folded his uncle to fit. Here, here it would be safe enough to leave him. Derek replaced the board and dusted himself off.

Chris was murmuring to Kate. Derek could have heard, if he'd wanted, but he didn't.

"Argent," Derek spoke.

"He took my sister." Chris rose.

"And she took my family." Derek folded his arms across his chest. "He also…."

"I won't kill you now Derek, but your a damned fool if you don't think I'm watching you."

"I already knew you were watching me. We go our separate ways. For now. I'll keep my eye on you."

"We will met again."

Derek nodded, then left through the front door. The police would probably be crawling all over the place tomorrow. Stiles would ensure that. Derek needed a new place to hole down, then. It looked like he was here to stay then, for the time being. Though he would need something he could leave in a hurry, something that would not be missed.

* * *

Notes:

Don't worry! We'll be seeing our two boys interact sooooooooon. I promise! I've got some plot-y things to take care of/set things up. Like getting them to agree on going on a date (which I am thinking will be absolutely terrible).

You can find me on tumblr (hbrooks01) whining about life (sometimes), writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys. I also like to post what I'm think of writing too (so you can get some insider info yay!)


	13. Dr Morris, Derek, and Dr Fenris

Stiles dropped his bag on the floor by his bed, faceplanting on the soft, cozy surface. He groaning with exhaustion. It was barely after 3, and he'd skipped out on the last half of lacrosse practice. Finstock was being extra brutal and extra dense today. He crawled up his bed, ready for sweet, sweet nap time. He close his eyes for just moment, then his dad knocked on the door frame.

"Stiles. You don't look ready. Did you forget you have your appointment with Dr. Morris today?"

Stiles groaned again. "Mm."

"You asked me to make the appointment with him for you. I did."

He half-rolled over to look at his dad. For once he wasn't wearing his sheriff uniform. He looked more relaxed since all the "animal" attacks and deaths had been blamed on Kate Argent. It meant they could breathe again.

"I'm tired."

"No whining."

Stiles would not have described his voice as whining.

"Get up, Stiles," his dad said. "We've got about a half hour to get there, sign-in, do the whole insurance thing."

"Can nap on the way?"

His dad shook his head in exasperation. "Fine. But you better not in the waiting room."

Stiles rolled up, grabbed a hoodie just in case it got cold later. Better to be warm than sorry. He followed his dad down the stairs and out into the Jeep. His dad would be driving—and didn't like showing up everywhere in the cruiser. So they often took the Jeep out for unofficial business when it was the two of them.

"So you sure about this? I mean, you've had ADHD for a long time."

The engine turned and his dad put the Jeep in gear.

"I know. I just want to go in and see how I'm doing. See if I can come off the pills."

"I just … you are doing so well in school, ya know. You're smart. I don't want this to bring you down."

Stiles rested his forehead on the passenger side window. "I just … don't like how they make me feel anymore."

"We'll listen to the doctor. Maybe you're going through some changes, and maybe you'll grow out of needing the medication."

His dad reached out, eyes still on the road, and squeezed his shoulder. It felt nice to talk to his dad without a million dead bodies needing cases to be solved.

"Believe me. I don't want you on them any more than you do, but I hated seeing your brain go to waste and the teachers thinking you weren't smart. Because you are. Promise me you'll listen to Dr. Morris?"

"Promise."

The trees passed and soon they were at the other edge of town where Dr. Morris' offices were. It was always so weird to come back for them. His mom used to take him when he was younger, and both he and his dad had memories that were harder to erase because of the infrequency of his scheduled visits.

They pulled into the parking lot—several other cars dotted the graying blacktop, white lines long since pristine, chipping at the edges and fading. Stiles waited until his dad took the keys out of the ignition (since to do otherwise would cause a safe passenger talk) and got out of the car. He stretched, still a little tired, but feeling more energetic.

Stiles walked to the glass front door, pulling it open, and holding it for his dad. Chairs lined the small room on his right side—there were no other patients. A water cooler less than half-full rested in the corner along with a stack of cone-shaped cups. He followed his dad to the reception counter. The nurse looked familiar, if a bit older.

"Sheriff Stilinski," she said. "Right on time. Here's the paperwork. Go ahead and fill it out and Dr. Morris will be with you shortly."

"Thanks." His dad took the clipboard and moved to a nearby seat. Stiles sat next to him. He clasped his hands between his knees, glancing over now and then to see what his father had written in the boxes.

"You don't have any new allergies, do you, Stiles?"

"No." He shook his head. "Not that I know of."

His dad nodded, and signed the bottom form. He rose and then gave it to the nurse along with his insurance card. She smiled up at him, took it, and proceeded to … do whatever it was she did.

"How's school going, son." He sat down again.

"Okay you know. Harris still hates me. Probably worsened for the whole interrogation thing you know?"

His dad looked over. "Doing my job."

"Not complaining! Just saying, so you know."

Electricity hummed in the overhead florescent lights.

"Good grades?" His dad really was trying for conversation.

"Yeah. Still getting A's. Can't say that about Scott. I'm going to try to help him out more this semester."

The sheriff shook his head. "Always trying to help. Just like me."

Stiles rested his head on his dad's shoulder. At least he wasn't pissed anymore about the whole Lydia being attacked thing—and certainly wasn't pressing it. Thank god.

A nurse opened up the door to the examination rooms in the back, calling Stiles' name. His dad pulled out a worn Western book.

"Be out here, waiting."

"Okay, Dad."

Stiles followed the nurse, sitting on regular chair instead of the examination chair. He felt weird sitting on them, with the crinkly paper. Just weird. He didn't fidget—much. Just sat in the chair thinking while the doctor did … whatever it was he did. Stiles figured out last time why they made him wait. Had to rest enough to properly test blood pressure. Didn't make it less annoying. Did they even consider that?

The nurse returned, checked his blood pressure and marked it down. She asked a few questions about his diet, eating habits, how he'd been feeling, etc., then gave him a little smile before telling him the doctor would be with him shortly.

Stiles waited a bit longer, then Dr. Morris came in. He was perhaps in his 50s, gray hair and a little balding. He'd always liked Dr. Morris.

"Afternoon, Stiles." He smiled. "How are you feeling today?"

"Just a bit tired."

"Okay. Your dad mentioned that you wanted to come off Adderall. Is that right?"

"Yeah, I just … don't feel like I need it anymore."

"How has your concentration been in school? Grades good?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I've been doing pretty good. Lacrosse practice has helped, I think."

"That's good. Have you tried not taking it?"

Stiles blushed a bit, embarrassed. "Yeah. I haven't been taking any for the last couple weeks. I haven't told my dad. I wanted to be sure. I feel normal."

"Okay." Dr. Morris wrote a note down.

"I also took one recently, just to see, and it made me feel jittery and weird, not like it first did."

"Hmm."

Stiles looked down to the floor, hoping he wouldn't be prescribed to take the drug anymore. Not like he would need to. All the excess energy was just magic after all.

"Why don't you take the exam again, like you did a few years ago. You said you haven't had any Adderall in the last week?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nope. Haven't taken any. Once I finished my bottle, I decided to see if I didn't need it anymore. I started feeling different on it."

The doctor nodded.

"I'll come back with the test in just a bit."

Stiles remained in the normal chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He was tired and didn't really want to do the test, but hey, if he wanted off the drugs, he would have to—well, he could just not take them, but he wanted to help his dad save _some_ money. No sense in buying it if he wasn't going to use it. And with all the illegal activity going on, drug dealing just didn't make sense.

Dr. Morris came back in with a few sheets of questions, and asked Stiles each one, marking a box. It took a while.

"We'd also like to ask your dad some questions if you don't mind," Dr. Morris said. "Before we do that, how's your general health been?"

"Uh, good? Haven't been sick in a while." Stiles tapped his finger against his chin. "I've been sleeping more and better. Still eating a ton."

"Good."

Dr. Morris ran a few more general tests, left Stiles to sit in the examination room. He said the nurse would come by again to ask a few more questions and to weigh him and measure his height while the doctor talked to his dad.

After a good twenty minutes Dr. Morris returned to the exam room.

"Well, it looks like most of your major symptoms of ADHD are no longer present. Your father did not know you weren't talking your medication. Not to worry. I said nothing to him and he has reported the same things you did.

"I don't think you need the medication anymore, but your prescription is still good for a few months. I'd like to get a school evaluation as well, and do another check up in a few months to see how you are."

"Okay. Thanks Dr. Morris."

"You're welcome, Stiles. Nice to see you in good health. Take care now."

Stiles took the note from the doctor and went out the waiting room again. They filled out some more paperwork then left. His dad fished the keys out.

"So, how did it go?" he asked after pulling on to the main road.

"Fine," Stiles said. "He said my prescription is still good, but that with the tests, he said he didn't think I needed to take the pills anymore. Also to go in for a check up in a few months. Basically before the prescription expires."

"Oh." His dad looked a little shocked. "That's good. I mean, he said something like that to me, but you know. It's just … I didn't expect anything."

"Yeah."

"So how about takeout for dinner?" His dad had a very smug look on his face, like he expected something because Stiles got what he wanted.

"Juan Pepe?" Mexican food just sounded so good.

"You bet!"

His dad sounded too excited for being allowed takeout without Stiles saying anything about heart health. Stiles laughed.

"Not so fast," he said. "You're getting a salad for lunch tomorrow, I'll even call the deputies to make sure."

His dad rolled his eyes.

* * *

Stiles flopped on his bed, exhausted. Who knew eating two tacos, an enchilada and a heap of beans would turn his lethargy into a human food coma? But it was worth it. So glorious.

He crawled up the sheets toward his pillow. Who cared that is was 6:00? He would nap. Then get up later and do some homework or something. But first, nap. His eyes closed for what seemed a brief moment before his phone started vibrating.

Stiles groaned, and pulled it from his pocket. Of course it was Scott.

"Scott."

"Stiles? You okay?"

"What time is it?"

"Like 7:30 dude. You okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Peachy, my werewolf pal. What's up?"

"Do you think you could help me out? See if you can find some other way to cure me of that … problem?"

Stiles stretched and rolled over. "Mm. I'll look into to it."

"Hey thanks. Um. I've got to go. Supposed to see Allison soon."

"Didn't her dad basically want to shoot you?"

"Yeah." Scott hesitated. "But I still go over and we make plans. They can't tear us apart, Stiles."

He wanted to roll his eyes. Hell, he had a destined super-husband and they didn't really even talk all that much. Speaking of that … should he try to text his nonexistent gay lover?

"Nope, not a chance. I'll look stuff up for you. You so owe me."

"Thanks, Stiles!"

"No problemo."

The line went dead.

He'd slept for an hour and _half?_ Probably more tired than he thought. Heck, it was what, just a few days ago that they'd brought down the big, bad wolf so no wonder he needed some more rest than normal.

Kicking off his shoes, Stiles scooted up the bed. Should he text Derek? What would he say? Hey Derek, um, so some random old dude and another really old dude told me we are supposed to be super star-crossed gay lovers. So um, yeah. That would not go over well with the werewolf. The alpha werewolf who could now smell magic on him. Shit.

-hey. S.

Stiles waited. What the hell was he doing anyway? Derek was several years older than him. How much, he didn't now, but he was well over eighteen, and Stiles was going on seventeen. _Over thinking this buddy._

Stiles pulled out a text book from his bag and leafed through it. He didn't want to study—really, who ever wanted to study? But he remembered something about Chemistry homework and Harris bitching about formulas or something. Stiles jumped when his phone vibrated.

-hey. D.

-um. what's up? how's the whole wolfy business going? S.

Stiles bit his lip nervously. He started reading about chemical formulas, but those were thrown out the window when Derek text back a second time.

-uh… something happen to scott? D.

-No. nothing i dont think. said hes going to see alli. S.

-big shocker there. ha. D.

-ikr!? even after the whole 'imma kill you' routine by crazy ass hunter dad. S.

-he still mad about the whole 'cure' thing? D.

-idk. prob. didn't think there was really a cure at all, but … gonna try to convince him its not real. S.

Derek didn't reply right away so Stiles started reading the textbook again, making some notes in the margins with pencil. Harris was an evil bastard. Evidenced by his somehow nefarious connection to the Hale fire.

-what are you doing? D.

Whoa. Hold up. Derek was … interested? Did he know about the whole "fated lovers" thing? Oh god. What if he did? But then again, wouldn't he make a move or something? But then there was the age difference? _Stiles, stop thinking._

-doing some homework. ugh. save me! its lame and stupid. S.

-mm. cant help you there. D.

-PLEEEEEEEASE? you saved me from big, bad, scary uncle peter. S.

-is your homework a homicidal alpha werewolf? D.

-OMG joke? yes. yes it is. it was assigned by the notorious, evil Harris of chemistry fame. ugh. i may die. IT HAS CLAWS. S.

Stiles chuckled to himself.

Formulas were not his favorite. Why didn't Harris just give them cheat sheets like any other teacher? This was high school not some Caltech graduate program. He wanted to hit his head on the book to cram the information in.

-yes, stiles. werewolves can make jokes. contrary to popular teenage belief. D.

-hmm peter said same thing. yet to see scott make a good one! S.

-scotts an idiot. D.

-ikr? but hes like my idiot brother, so i keep him around. S.

-soooooo…. what do you do all day in that burned monstrosity? S.

-none of your business. D.

-…. S.

-cant live there forever derek. S.

-i know. was hoping this would be temporary, but with laura gone. D.

Stiles didn't know what to say. He read through more of the textbook before giving up for the night. It was almost nine and he had little to show for his work. Oh well, he'd be fine come the test. It was sometime next week. Besides, he managed to get a lot of the reading done while texting. Perhaps Derek was his new Adderall.

-gonna get a new swanky place? S.

-no. D.

-gonna get a new place? S.

-stiles. D.

-what? S.

-do your homework. D.

-ugh. can i bug you tomorrow? S.

-do I have a choice? D.

-no ^_^ S.

-fine. D.

-\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/\o/ S.

Stiles grinned, and couldn't stop smiling. All he did was text Derek a couple times and seriously? Wow. It was like Derek was a real person under that leather and grump.

Derek didn't write back. Stiles decided to go downstairs and drink a glass of water and check in on his dad. He'd been awfully quite tonight. Stiles thumbed through the texts with Derek. They were normal, everyday texts. But there was something there, right? Or was he just imagining it, trying to fit the patten to the fated lovers thing.

The sheriff was sleeping, head down on the kitchen table, an empty glass just out of reach. Stiles remembered when he got his dad drunk, what a month ago? If that? He gently shook his dad's shoulders. Looked he wasn't the only one tired around here.

"Dad? You okay?"

"Mmg? Stiles?" He looked groggy.

"You should go to bed, Dad. Get some real sleep, okay?"

"M'kay."

Stiles left him for a minute to drink water.

"Night, son."

"Night, Dad."

Shuffling feet went up the stair case. Stiles poked around for some sort of snack, though, really, he wasn't too hungry. Maybe just a little bit to eat ….

Sated, he returned to his room. He grabbed a notebook and started doodling. He didn't need meds, but that didn't mean he wanted to do more homework. He sketched a few wolves, tried writing in different styles (ha, styles!), and then started doodling more, drawing little black wolves like he thought Derek might look like and writing their combined names together. Oh god. He'd de-aged three years and become a girl. He smacked his head with the notebook.

For some weird reason—okay, fine a really damned good reason—he couldn't stop thinking about Derek Hale. And how good it felt to just text him. He'd never experienced that with Lydia. At all. Even when they were right up against each other.

* * *

After school the next day, Stiles dropped his backpack to the floor and grabbed his laptop. He'd come across some crazy ass doctor a few months back after the whole 'your best friend in the whole world is now a murderer on the full moon' thing. So Stiles pulled up a few of the bookmarks he'd made that he'd buried deep in his 'this is not porn' bookmarks. He thought he was a crafty one. His phone buzzed.

-how was school? D.

Stiles grinned. He'd sent Derek a few texts in the morning before class and several during the school day. He was surprised that Derek was still texting him. Though he hadn't unleashed the full Stiles Stilinski on the poor guy yet.

-lame. as always. S.

-ugh. why does this happen? S.

-*headdesk* S.

Stiles pulled up some videos of the guy: Dr. Fenris. Hmm. He started watching a good two-hour clip hosted on some foreign website. Interesting stuff. He'd sifted through some of it before, but it was always good to double check.

-scott trouble? D.

-you have no idea. S.

-try me. D.

-mm. since you offered … S.

-so, I have to convince scott that he's not gonna be cured, like I said yesterday. S.

-doing some research. think i might have a lead. S.

-best of luck. D.

-thats all you got?! S.

-:-) D.

-a smile? no frown emoticon? no scowl? S.

-funny stiles. D.

Stiles started up some more tabs, listening to the sound of the man talking. He'd apparently changed his name and moved far across the country from the east coast. Stiles read all the articles on both names—not many—but he was convinced the guy was not nuts (well, in an everyone-thinks-I'm-crazy way) and probably had some real info.

And he taught at the community college just outside of town. Wow. Beacon Hills was seriously the nexus of crazy. But it made sense. The guy was trying to escape his past, and moving over two thousand miles was probably a good thing. Along with the name change.

Stiles quickly opened up the website and pulled up a class listing, finding out when the guy was teaching. He'd take Scott after one of the guys classes, if he could—even if it meant ditching school.

-found something. S.

-good. wanna share? D.

-local professor might know something. some dude names dr. fenris. S.

-be careful. and tell scott not to be an idiot. D.

-ugh. i know … ! S

-so … you know something. spill. S.

-nope. D.

-come on! S.

-not gonna say anything. D.

-*puppy eyes* S.

-ha. remember, werewolf here. I'm immune. D.

-no fun at all. *pout* S.

-i can be fun. D.

-prove it. S.

-fine. i will. just you wait. D.

Stiles found Dr. Fenris' name on the schedule after searching for a while. How awful was this system? Looks like he taught tonight. Damn. He'd have to get Scott there. Of course, that shouldn't be too hard—the kid wanted a cure, this guy might have one. And if it involved breaking the law … well, what else was new?

-how long do I have to wait? S.

-until tomorrow: it'll be friday and you'll be free the rest of the weekend. D.

-I await your presence with baited breath good sir … S.

-shut up. D.

-^_^ anywho, taking scott out for a walk tonight. hopefully this guy knows enough. S.

-stop with the lame dog jokes! D.

-nope :-p S.

-i'll see you tomorrow? S.

-yeah. be careful. D.

-will do. S.

Stiles thought about texting Scott, but dialed his number instead. This was a bit too important to text it out. Scott picked up on the third ring.

"Stiles, I'm at work."

"Calm down there, buddy. Just thought you might want to leave work soon. I've got a plan. Well, I have a place for us to be. Whole 'cure' thing."

"What is it?"

And suddenly Scott was interested. Sometimes the dude was just too easy to pull around.

"Can you get off work by eight? We need to be at BHCC by like eight thirty."

"Why the college? I'm off at seven forty-five. I'm supposed to pick up my mom tonight."

Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Scott. You leave the car with her, I come get you, we go. Problem solved."

"You're a genius!"

"Yes. I am. And you so owe my big time for this little favor."

"Okay. Gotta go. Deaton keeps giving me this weird look."

"Bye Scott. I'll meet you at the hospital at eight."

"Kay."

Stiles hit the end button. He read more about the guy, several articles that he'd tried—and failed—to get published in scientific journals (posted by anonymous on some really weird websites). This guy knew something, he knew enough, but had he ever encountered a werewolf before? Hmm, this could go well, or it could go terribly bad.

Stiles nudged at the tingling under his skin. His magic was still simmering there, but quiet. He hoped he didn't have to use any of it tonight. That would just invite his best friend to ask too many questions, questions he didn't really want to answer. He'd have to come up with some way to mask the scent, but he'd have to find out how—and holy shit.

Stiles looked at his phone, reading the texts from Derek again. He was supposed to see Derek tomorrow. Was it like a date, date? Or a what? And with all those super-keen alpha senses, he might smell the magic on Stiles and freak out. Or he might not notice. Please, how about the not notice.

Tomorrow was not going to be pleasant. Hell, tonight probably wasn't—watching his best friend lose faith in ever being cured. Well, nothing to do but homework until Scott was off work. Then, then he could worry about how to fend off crazy alpha sense. Good going Stiles. You're not-boyfriend is going to smell the magic on you and maybe rip you to pieces.

* * *

Notes:

I apologize for any wrong information about ADHD questioning/testing procedures. I did a tiny bit of research, so hopefully it's okay. If you like this story so far, tell your friends! Sorry it took a while to update, but this is a pretty hefty chapter and took me a couple days to get out.

The next one may take a bit longer too, depending. You can find me on tumblr (hbrooks01) whining about life (sometimes), writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys.


	14. New Haunts, New Powers

Derek lounged in the late afternoon sun, completely at peace for the first time since he'd arrived in Beacon Hills some few months ago. And it didn't seem as if he'd be able to leave anytime soon—like he had hoped. No matter. As the new alpha, he really couldn't just leave. He had to stay for the territory. And he'd been running too long.

Derek rolled over onto his stomach to absorb the linger rays. It was an abnormally warm day, so he had decided to enjoy it. Besides, things had settled down. Kate was dead; her family mourned her loss—which meant that they would be out of his hair for a while. As much as he enjoyed being hunted …. Really? Who was the predator here?

Besides, how often did he ever get to relax?

Alpha powers were much stronger, therefore could sense much much more than he could as a beta. He imagined how powerful he would be with a pack. Scott was tenuously tied to him, though that could break at any moment. He would need to build his pack, hand-picking the select few outcasts to join—he didn't want to put them through what Scott had been through. If they had no other loyalties, then they could join his pack easily—without the need to remove their friends and family. Of course, Peter could have done some different things, but Derek didn't know all the rules. He had only been told enough to survive; he would have been given all his knowledge at age eighteen, if everyone had lived.

Instead of worrying though, Derek concentrated on the warmth of the sun on his back, the smell of loamy earth underneath him, the play of birds in the trees. The absolute silence from humanity all throughout the Preserve. It was beautiful, serene.

The sun soon dipped below the trees, so Derek got up and wiped most of the dirt off himself. He needed to find a new place to hide out and keep a few of his possessions. The house was no longer a safe place. And if he was going to grow his pack, he would need somewhere to train them, some place to keep them safe. The hunters knew about the house—it was the most obvious place for Derek to stay, and as the active alpha in the area, he needed a center of command. Anywhere in Beacon Hills would do.

Throwing on a shirt, Derek got into his car and drove into town, keeping an eye on the less well-to-do areas. The poorer the people, the less questions asked. He didn't need to actually _pay _for the space, but hey, abandoned places could be beneficial.

So, a few hours after dark, Derek found himself in the warehouse district of Beacon Hills. It had been a long time since anything had been manufactured in town. Most of those moved away years before he was born. And with the latest economic turndown … the rest went under. He parked his car well away from edge and walked the rest of the way back. No sense in pretending he wasn't shadowed. If what Chris said was true, hunter would be keeping an eye on his every movement. Fortunately, many would be back at the Argent's dealing the the death of the legendary Kate. Curse her name.

He kept to the shadows. He had yet to test the limits of his new powers, but he wanted to be sure they had a chance to settle for another day or two before trying anything. He knew he was faster, that was for sure. He loped along the empty byways and alleys of the district, moving toward the older, more dilapidated buildings.

Pausing, he caught his breath as he surveyed the area. Peter had been through this place once as Derek chased him—though he hadn't know it was half-burned uncle then. And of course, Derek had hidden here as well during his brief time on the Most Wanted list in Beacon Hills. He leaped up to the top of the nearby building to better see the layout of the area.

About a block away, he saw something useful. A lower building, with a clear view to the entrance. It would be difficult to surround without expending a lot of man power, which meant the hunters would have to overcommit to take down his pack. His pack. He smiled at that. He needed one, could feel the desire swimming in his veins.

He jumped back down to the street and meandered over, keeping his senses open to sounds and smells. So far, the only thing he could scent was rusted metals, old stale trails, and himself. Creaks and groans of buildings settling also filled his mind. No heartbeats, no breathing, no footsteps. He relaxed a little more.

Tugging on the doors to the warehouse proved futile until he shifted forms and the rust broke free from the hinges. The place had stairs leading down to a wide open area with a commuter train half-rotted sitting in the middle. Derek tested the air; no one had been here in years.

This would be the perfect place. He would just have to move a few things from the house while the short truce was in effect. He knew it would end when the rest of the Argents came. That meant Chris and Kate's father, Gerard. That man was … cold.

Satisfied for the moment, Derek went down the stairs, surprisingly solid, and walked around. This would be a good enough den for now. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and ignored it for a moment. It was probably Stiles, as Scott rarely had any phone communication with him. As much as he wanted to hear from his mate, he couldn't bring himself to look just yet.

He poked around. He found a light switch and flicked it on. Florescent illumination flickered to life. Good. There was a shower near the back, probably for some of the workers to use or for cleaning something. He turned the water on, letting the ruddy run.

Derek texted Stiles back, leaving the water on until it turned mostly clear. Better than nothing. He wondered if anyway paid for the water and electricity. Would they notice a spike in usage, an perhaps come investigate? Maybe, maybe not. He didn't plan to live in this dump forever.

He left the worn down warehouse and pulled out his phone. He texted Stiles until he returned back to the house to pick up what little he really needed. He laughed at the happy arm text Stiles sent. Derek wondered if Stiles knew about the whole mate thing, but that was highly unlikely. Humans had good enough senses, but would Stiles be aware? Some times he could be as dense as Scott. Derek wanted to take things slow so as not to spook him. The age difference really didn't bother him as much as he thought it should have. Stiles was his mate, pure and simple. Human laws didn't mean much when it came to such a rare pairing. He tried to remember something his mother had said about that. Something about a council? Shaking the thought from his head, he concentrated on driving.

Once back the warehouse district, Derek parked away from his chosen place, still close enough that hauling all the boxes wouldn't be such a difficult thing but far enough away to not draw too much attention. He had unpacking to do, and he had the place to make a sort of home in. Besides, texting Stiles gave him more purpose, more happiness than it ought to have.

He couldn't stop smiling at the interchange. It was like it was meant to be—and it was.

* * *

Though Derek had moved most of his personal belongings to the warehouse, he still wanted to spend one last night in his family's house, as a way to say good bye. He hadn't yet fallen asleep when he heard the Porsche turn onto the road. He smiled to himself. So, Jackson had decided he wanted the bite tonight.

Derek rose, fixing his hair in the mirror and throwing on his clothes. If he was going to turn Jackson, he wanted to have a little flair; after all, it would be his first bite as alpha. Peter had mentioned something about dramatic flair. Fitting. It would be much more appropriate to turn Stiles, but Derek didn't want to bite anyone without permission.

He lounged up on the second floor, waiting for Jackson to approach and ask for the gift. It would be so much fun to torture the guy. He could smell the fear from here. It didn't take long once the engine stopped for Jackson to open the door, like he owed the place. Still, the smell of fear was there.

"Derek. Derek!"

Derek pulled from the shadows, watching. Jackson looked so … strange, standing there at the bottom of the staircase. He wanted to hear the magic words, the begging for the gift. Not like Scott's refusal of it. Though from what Stiles said, he'd been looking for a way to show the young werewolf that cures were not an option.

"I helped you." His beating heart picked up, even more. "I … helped save you."

Derek showed himself, standing tall at the landing. Jackson's heart rate went up. If it weren't so much fun, he would probably not do it. And, yes he'd technically helped, but come on, the guy smelled exactly like entitlement. Not the most pleasant of emotions.

"You got what you wanted. Now, it's my turn," Jackson continued.

Derek jumped down, showing off the enormous strength he had. He landed two feet away from the fearful athlete—who had backed up almost to the door from the display.

"It is now, is it?" Derek smiled.

"Yes."

Derek let one of his claws extend, the reached out to scrape it along Jackson's jawline.

"Before I give you what you want, you are fully aware of the dangers."

Jackson nodded. "I'm ready for it. I deserve it. I'm no McCall."

Derek grinned. "No, you are not." He dropped his hands.

"I don't want to be a part of your little pack though."

Derek said nothing.

"Give it to me!" Jackson's voice rang through the house.

Very well, if he wanted to play that way …. Derek was very careful of his claws, but he ripped the expensive jacket and the white shirt the jock wore, exposing the left oblique. Jackson was whimpering in fear—though his eyes were open—and Derek opened his mouth wide showing his extending fangs and sharp teeth. He bite down hard, harder than necessary, on the soft, slightly salty flesh, willing his power as alpha to claim a human as one of his own, the power to turn Jackson into a werewolf. It was exhilarating. To feel his power enter another. He could feel it.

Jackson cried out, probably from the pain, and then passed out. Derek had to laugh. He couldn't help it. He picked up the boy and went outside to the fast river tossed the kid into the water—for being a douche.

The instant he hit, Jackson sputtered and flopped around, being carried downstream. Derek walked back to the house, up to the room with the least damage, and laid down again. Tomorrow he would test his powers to their limit, hopefully text Stiles some more, and maybe start building up the warehouse as a home—well, as much a home as he could make it.

* * *

The next morning, Derek awoke, like always, abrupt and fully. He hadn't had lingering sleepiness in years. He rose, the cold air hitting his bare chest. He grabbed his clothes, smoothing them out from the rumpled form they were in, and dressed. Taking the last bit of his belongings, he dumped them in the trunk of the Camaro. He'd deal with that tonight.

Derek pulled out his phone to check the time. Almost seven. He smiled, sending a text to Stiles.

-Good morning. D.

Stiles didn't answer right away—probably because he was still sleeping. Derek closed his eyes, zeroing in on his senses. The world around him pulsed into life, the sounds crystalline and discrete. He heard a squirrel disrupting leaves and knew exactly where the sound came from. He opened his eyes, concentrating on rustling. His sight changed, and the squirrel popped into view, as if he were not ten feet from it—when he knew it was more like four hundred.

So, his senses were much better. He still needed to test out his true alpha form, but that would be in a moment. He hadn't become a wolf in a long time, and today seemed a good choice to run around the preserve for a while.

-ugh. why so chipper? turn of the sun please. thanks. S.

-haha. no can do. stayed up too late last night? D.

Derek stripped, folding his clothes carefully and placing them on the trunk of his car. Once fully naked, he took several breaths, finding his control. He willed the shift to wolf and his body complied. He shook with the effort and sheer strength he felt flooding his system. In moments, he was on all fours.

He felt bigger, much bigger than he had before. He looked up to the side mirror of his car, catching his image. Definitely much larger than he had been before. Red eyes appraised cooly, his black fur thicker, healthier. His was surprised his form didn't take on a more human one, like Peter's had, but Peter had never been able to transform into a full wolf like he had.

Talia, his mother, had always said he was the special one in the family. Perhaps she knew a lot more than she had told him, more than he suspected anyway.

Derek let his gaze fall to the surrounding woods. His senses were even sharper than they were as a human—that didn't surprise him. What did was how much more. He had the sudden urge to run. So he loped through the trees, his ears catching every sound, his nose ever smell, his eyes every minute movement. He slowed to a trot, listen for something. Stopping, he gathered his bearings, and heard the rustle of a rabbit in a nearby bush. If Derek could have smirked, he would have.

He pounced. The brown rabbit darted away, but Derek was faster, so much faster and caught the rabbit in three strides, his jaws tight, but not drawing blood. The animal wriggled and squirmed in his mouth. After a good few seconds Derek let it go. Satisfied, he began the short run to his car. It was nice to have a good run as a wolf. Once back to the shell of the house—even old charred wood had a easy to find scent—he sat on his haunches and stared up at the shell. He whimpered once, the initiated the change. The process was smooth again, no hitches and Derek was once again human. It wasn't as painful as some of his beta shifts. Just to try, he pulled at the familiar tugs to change into a beta form. He looked in the mirror. He noticed a few changes, but mostly he looked the same. Though he felt strong.

He pulled on his clothes, then checked his phone. He smiled at the missed texts.

-ugh. yes. shouldn't have been doing all that homework. S.

-you should have saved me. *pout* I could have said the wolf ate my homework! S.

-what are you doing? S.

-hey, you there? or are you running around the woods being all wolfy? S.

-k. off to school. S.

He leaned against the car, trying to think of what to say. He deleted a few texts: 'note to self, don't save stiles from anything, especially homework,' 'yup' and 'off there too' (cuz that was just creepy).

-was out running and howling at the moon. oh wait. its daytime. silly me. D.

Derek jumped in the car, and drove toward the high school. He parked in one of the unused lots near campus. Time for a little bit old-fashioned intel gathering. Spying was too creepy.

-omg. you can't just make a funny when im in class! scott gave me a weird look and the teacher glared. S.

-then dont read your texts at school. D.

Getting of the sleek car, he opened his senses, listening to all the hammering hearts and jumbled conversations. That he could hear each one distinctly made him smile. He'd never been able to before, they all blurred together. He picked out Stiles heartbeat, and ignored the rest. Soon it was just the beating heart of his mate walking around. He heard the heartbeat flutter and the sudden tapping of keys. Derek smiled. That flutter was for him. That meant Stiles _liked _him.

Derek pulled out his phone before the text even came through.

-maybe you should stop texting me at school. S.

-i mean, you wouldnt want me failing classes. S.

He smiled.

-no wouldn't want that. have a nice day then :-P D.

Derek breathed in the air, smelling a mixture of teenage sweat, angst, bodily fluids and all manner of too much. But he could pick out Stiles, Scott, Allison, Jackson even. He knew where they were, how long they'd been there, which desks they usually sat in. As a beta, he could catch the scent and follow it, even pick out a scent in a crowd, but this? This was something else entirely. It was gorgeous.

-nooooooooooo. you cant just do that to me derek! what if im bored? S.

-you're the one who told me to leave you alone ha. D.

He listened again for Stiles, broadening the scope of his hearing.

"-are you texting? Lydia? You've got Lydia face." Derek recognized Scott's voice.

"No. And what do you mean, Lydia face?"

"It's all scrunched up and happy."

Derek grinned. He made Stiles happy!

"Uh." Stiles laughed nervously. "So about the cure thing? I'm looking into it."

He heard Scott's heart hammer for a moment. "Really? Anything good?"

"Nothing too much yet. I've got a lead that I wanna research more into."

"That's good news, right?"

"Yeah. Hey, I'll see you at lunch."

"Okay."

He heard Stiles lean up against a wall, and type something. If he was where Derek thought he was …. He looked up at the second story window, the glare of the sun at the wrong angle. Damn it! But he could make out the shadow of Stiles inside the building. He heard furious typing, but nothing else. Derek didn't feel his phone vibrate or hear it. He waited until he heard the bell ring, then checked his phone. Still nothing.

His hands itched over the keyboard, ready to type something, but he quickly squelched that idea. He still had something things to do today. Like spruce up the warehouse train depot. As disappointed as he was, he still knew his texts made Stiles smile. Through both heartbeat and Scott's keen observations. He smiled, getting back into his car and drove off the industrial wasteland of past Beacon Hills.

* * *

-until tomorrow: it'll be friday and you'll be free the rest of the weekend. D.

Derek stared at the text. Had he really sent that? He groaned, glaring at the evil electronic device. It made him text that. How stupid could he have been?

His phone buzzed.

-I await your presence with baited breath good sir … S.

Derek almost tossed the phone into the stupid train. So Stiles thought this was a joke? He fired off a terse reply, not caring that he might actually cause his mate to shut up. But no, he had to be funny and send a stupid joke about Scott and dogs. Derek slung another retort about Stiles' choice of humor. And then got a no with silly emoticon. Did Stiles not know he was pissed?

He huffed, pacing in the small room. Wasn't it just hours ago that he'd felt Stiles get a little excited to see a text from him? Was it the mate thing, or was he really that lonely that a text from Derek would make him happy? But Scott had mentioned the whole Lydia face … that had to be a good sign right?

His phone buzzed again. What was the smart-ass going to say this time?

-i'll see you tomorrow? S.

Derek's knees shook a little from the sudden release of tension. He sat on the nearby chest—some things from the house. He sent another reply, this one eased of all anger and tension. If Stiles was going to chase a werewolf expert he would need to be careful. He felt suddenly weary. After basically asking out the "love of his life," and him basically saying yes, Derek had no idea what to do. Panicking, he jumped up and paced more.

He wasn't fun; why had he said he was fun? What the hell was he going to do that would be considered fun by a sixteen year old with ADHD? A run through the forest? "Creeping" on the high school? No, probably not.

He deliberately breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. He banged his head a few times on the cement walls, trying to clear his head.

"Smart idea, Derek," he mumbled to himself.

Mini golf? No, that was lame. He'd have a huge advantage with the eye sight thing. Movies? No, also lame. Too many people and too many gross smells. Food? Well, Stiles did like eating, but that wasn't exactly fun. Was it? Night hiking? Well, he liked it, but would Stiles? It was more romantic than fun. _Ugh_. Why was this so _difficult?_ Should not be this hard to figure out something fun to do.

He scrubbed his hands through his hair. His mother had said something to him a long time ago. What was it? "Go with your first instinct." Mini golf. Fine. Mini golf it was. But they'd have to go somewhere out of town. Shit. Why did he have the sinking feeling this wasn't going to go too well? Why did he care? _Mate._

Pacing around the warehouse for the next hour didn't help. He was worried about Stiles and a little bit about Scott. Wanting to check up on them, he left the blighted area. Pink skies told of the end of the day. Where to go? He could feel Scott's weak bond and judged him to be about the same distance as the vet clinic, so he walked that way. No sense in bring the car. He'd just become a wolf and run if he needed speed.

It was fully dark by the time Derek arrived. He waited in the shadows, scenting Scott inside. He knew Scott would be less aware of him: because of his recent alpha transition, it was harder for a beta to detect the alpha—unless the alpha wanted to be found. Very handy trick for being sneaky. How long had Peter been using that? Derek didn't remember Peter smelling differently, but then it had been years ….

Crouching just at the tree line, Derek settled in to wait until Scott left the clinic. It would be nothing to lope after the car in wolf form so he would just follow until Scott went wherever it was he was going. Stiles would be with him and he could catch a glimpse of the whole plan. If Dr. Fenris was involved … it was best for Derek to find out.

Soon, Scott was locking up and driving away. Derek shifted and followed, easily keeping pace with the aging Honda. It wasn't long before they'd arrived at the hospital. Derek had wondered why news of his uncle and nurse missing hadn't made more of a headline—let alone the damage done. He waiting just inside the tree line, listening to Scott talk to his mom.

"You're early, handsome."

"Dropping of the car." Scott must have handed her the keys. "Stiles and I are going to hang out for a bit, so … he's going to pick me up here."

"Oh, okay. Well, you guys don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Mom!"

"I mean it, mister. And thanks for dropping the car off. I'm guessing it was Stiles' idea?"

Derek could smell Scott's embarrassment, and he snorted to himself.

"Yeah."

Derek turned his head to the sound of the Jeep coming down the road. He backed up a little more into the trees and watched the blue car pull into the hospital parking lot.

"I'm outside, Scott. And check our phone so she thinks I texted you." Stiles spoke softly, enough that Scott—and Derek—could hear. Resourceful.

Derek shook his wolf head. Did Stiles really have to do that? From the embarrassment of Scott, he had to assume yes. Scott wasn't stupid, but good god, couldn't he think _sometimes?_ He would have laughed if he could have. In his present form, lolling his tongue was the best he could muster. He resisted the desire to smack Scott upside the head.

Scott jumped into the passenger seat of the Jeep, and Stiles peeled out of the drive and hurried down the road. Again, Derek kept the pace up easily enough, his wolf form stronger with more endurance. If he knew either, they'd end up in trouble. He'd hold back as long as he could, but he would not live his mate in a dire situation.

The Jeep pulled to a stop into Lot N of Beacon Hills Community College.

"So, what are we doing here?" Scott asked, getting out the car. Stiles followed.

"This is your cure." Stiles started playing a video, but Derek couldn't pay attention to anything other that Stiles. He was so … goddamn _hot_. If asked, he would refuse to admit he drooled over Stiles. The ball cap, the shirt. He just … _keep it together Derek._ All he wanted to do was lick his mate from head to toe. It was like Stiles was a totally different person and Derek wanted to touch him all over. He took a few calming breaths.

"He knows everything there is to know about werewolves, and I mean everything." Stiles had paused the video. "This is the closest thing we have to a certified expert."

"Except Derek." Scott looked up at Stiles. Derek grinned as much as he could as a wolf. Finally, Scott got something!

"There you go just mentioning his name again." Stiles' heart flipped a little, and Derek knew it had something to do with perhaps seeing him tomorrow. "Do you enjoy hurting me?"

Had Stiles said anything to Scott about Derek? He doubted it. Stiles probably didn't even know what was going on himself, hell, Derek had no idea what was going on. Though maybe Stiles only sounded pained because … he wanted to fool Scott into thinking he was pained? No, he was pained, probably because he just as confused as Derek felt about the whole thing. But the feelings were there.

Derek noticed then, Dr. Fenris coming out of the Nursing and Hospice Building. The name rang and bell, but the face … his sister had described him well enough. He remembered the hunters chasing them through Wisconsin. And the thought of losing his sister to them. He remember the chasing, the fear, and the rage he'd felt. She had barely escaped that.

He followed close (watching the poor guy fall, and god where those two clumsy!). Soon they followed the man to his house. The two idiots were hunkered in the Jeep, waiting for the doctor to leave. When he pulled out of his driveway and turned the corner, both Stiles and Scott hurried to the house.

Derek shook his head, watching Stiles punch (and fail) to enter the house. Good god, he looked so much better without all those clothes on, his muscles bunching as he slammed his fist into glass. He wanted to howl with desire, to pounce on Stiles when he moved like that. Derek caught the glint of metal. How was it that Scott found the key? Oh Stiles … should have seen that.

The man parked his car not far away and entered the house a moment before Stiles and Scott did. Derek listened intently at the commotion inside, the rising heartbeat of Stiles, the word "gun." But Scott remained calm, mentioning the Hippocratic Oath (not by name, but at least Scott _had_ learned something in school). Derek breathed easier knowing they would be okay when their heartbeats steadied. So he wouldn't have to jump in for the rescue.

He listened to the tale of the doctor, how he'd followed Laura (and incidentally) him around the country for almost five years. And he hadn't known? But … that meant the man might now what he looked like.

Yup, just mentioned it. Don't say anything, he thought to the pair. Thankfully they kept their mouths shut.

It was a miracle he hadn't connected the dots yet. What with the arrest (thanks Stiles) and the most wanted list (thanks Scott). But Dr. Fenris hadn't, so Derek was grateful. He'd have to keep an eye on the man in the future.

He could tell the conversation was coming to a close when Scott took a breath.

"Is there a cure? You said there was a difference …."

"Yes."

Scott's heart rate skyrocketed. He really wanted to be normal? Derek was confused about it. Why would he want to be normal. Just for Allison?

"Cut them in half. Death cures all ailments."

Scott stopped breathing for a moment. Stiles started breathing. Derek knew what the man said was true. Stiles seemed to be okay with it, but … he felt a bit sorry for Scott. Derek watched as the two left the man's house.

Scott turned to thank the man, then told him where the cigarettes were. Damn it Scott! He watched the Jeep drive off and the doctor running out again, searching for them, like he knew. Thankfully he didn't see Derek sitting behind the trees, watching the whole encounter. Now he might come asking questions. Well, Derek was prepared just in case. Good thing he'd just moved across town.

He loped back to the warehouse, transforming once he was inside. Tomorrow he'd have to figure out the whole mini golf thing. He had a date with Stiles. Oh god. Would Stiles consider it a date? Running his hands through his hair, he collapsed on the cold ground. He could do this. He could do the whole mate thing. Right?

* * *

So I know this doesn't exactly follow the Search for the Cure, but it's close enough to count, right? Right.

Also, it's almost April! Which is national poetry month. I'm going to be participating in 30 poems in 30 days. I'll also be going on a short vacation, but I'll still try to update as fast as I can. I'm aiming for two chapters a week—depending on length. Shorter chapters go up faster, but sometimes they need to be longer.

You can find me on tumblr (hbrooks01) whining about life (sometimes), writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys.


	15. FunTimes Mini Golf and Game Center

Stiles rolled over, his wrist a little sore from last night's attempt at breaking and entering. He groaned, slapping his good hand over his eyes to block out the worst of the glare of the sun. "Friday" blared on his cell phone—his way of announcing the days first thing in the morning. Rebecca Black didn't sound better on small, tinny cell phone speakers.

"I get it," he croaked. "Fine, fine."

He reached over and fumbled the alarm off, then checked for any notifications. Nothing from Derek, nothing from Scott, nothing from anyone. His dad tapped at the door, before calling through.

"You up kiddo?"

"Yeah," Stiles said, throwing off his deliciously warm blankets. Cool air attacked his arms, and he grabbed a hoodie off the floor.

"Breakfast?" he said to his dad after opening the door.

The sheriff drank a steaming cup of coffee. "The usual. Hurry up, you've got about a half-hour to get to school. I don't want to have to arrest you for delinquency."

Stiles grunted.

His dad smiled. "I see you're a ball of sunshine today."

He tried to glare, but his dad just laughed and went back to his room to finished getting ready for work.

Stiles tramped down the stairs, grabbed a bowl, the milk, and his box of cocoa puffs. Fridays were cocoa puff days. And they were beautiful. He scarfed down the bowl of cereal, rinsed out the dregs of the chocolate flavored milk, and ran upstairs to change. Showering would come after school today. He had to smell nice for Derek.

Oh god.

He was going on a date with Derek today. Well, would Derek consider it a date or just hanging out in a I-no-longer-want-to-kill-you kinda way? It would be so much easier if Stiles could just get the courage to say something about the whole thing.

Back in his room he scrambled out of his pajamas and jumped into his jeans, threw on two shirts and a button up and grabbed a clean hoodie. He snatched his backpack and rushed out the door with a shouted goodbye to his dad. Ten minutes to get to school.

Stiles slid into the desk just as the final bell rang, Scott right next him. Would it be okay to text Derek again during school hours? Scott had asked some random questions yesterday about who he was texting.

"Dude, you were almost late," Scott said.

"I know. Mornings and me? We aren't friends."

"How's your hand?" he whispered.

"Fine, fine." Stiles waved the question away, and pulled out his phone. "And no, Curious George, I'm not texting anyone. Pay attention."

Scott leaned back, fiddling with his pen. Allison wasn't in school today, presumably because of the whole Kate thing. Stiles was kind of glad. He didn't want to have to face her again. She'd been glum all week; Scott said even kissing her didn't cheer her up.

But there had been no saving Kate Argent—Stiles wasn't about to risk exposure and certain high levels of pain for the murderer, no matter how much Allison would want her alive. No way.

He tucked his phone under his desk, and sent a quick text to Derek, then turned the phone on vibrate.

-what, no good morning? you still sleeping? S.

Like a good student, Stiles paid attention and took notes through class. He knew Scott was dying to ask him who he was texting. But he wasn't going to tell his best werewolf pal, not yet. Scott had other things to worry about. Like Allison and not dying and passing his classes.

-Shouldn't you be paying attention in class? D.

-No. haha so … whats the big fun thing we're doing today? S.

-it's a secret. D.

-a big werewolf secret? S.

-yes. D.

Stiles moved to his next class, keeping his eye on his phone during the lecture. Besides, it was a boring class. Derek was more fascinating that high school mathematics. But then again, almost anything was more exciting that math.

-any hints? S.

-it's outside of bh. D.

-disneyland? I love disneyland! ;) S.

-no. D

-come on. don't be such a sourwolf. tell meeeeeeee. S.

Derek didn't text back for a while, so Stiles figured the alpha was running around being wolfy. At least, thats what he liked to think. What the heck did Derek doing during the day anyway? Hunt rabbits and bake them in a little werewolf oven? No, he probably sat around the old house or something.

-pleaseeeeeee? S.

-nope. not telling. :) D.

-meanie. S.

By the time lacrosse practice rolled around, Stiles still had no idea what they two of them were going to do. Stiles suspected Derek actually had no idea and was just putting him off until he could figure something out. Proof that Derek wasn't fun.

-off to practice! S.

-don't let scott do anything stupid. D.

-i'll try my best. S.

The clouds broke up a little bit to allow for some sun as the team took the field. Coach was yelling at Greenberg again. Nobody liked Greenberg. Stiles would feel sorry for the guy, but … he just couldn't.

"Alright you lazy pansies," Coach yelled. "Go run some laps. Like five. And then huddle up."

Stiles trailed after most of the team, Jackson and Scott up in the front, him and Greenberg in the back. It's not that he was a bad runner, but everyone kind of ran in their place on the team. The bench warmers were always in the back. Scott used to be back here with him, but now that he was co-captain he ran up front with Jackson.

He kept up easily enough, then joined the huddle forming around the coach.

"We're running drills for first line. Danny, you're on goal. Block the shit out of those balls. Everyone else, take the bench. We'll run teams after the drill."

During the drills, Stiles mind wandered off. His skin tingled today, more than it had yesterday and he was thankful for the running. After a good thirty minutes, he joined Scott's team against Jackson's.

The rush of running up and down the field would have been better if he'd actually been passed the ball, but for the most part, Stiles just chased the other players. He was assigned, of course, Greenberg, so he had to shadow the other guy—not like either of them would ever have the chance to run the ball or score.

At the end of practice, his team beat out Jackson's by two points—a close game and Jackson was pretty pissed based on the stink face he had going.

Stiles didn't feel like talking much, so he shoved his gear in the locker and drove home to shower with a cursory goodbye to Scott. Most of the guys showered in the locker room after practice, but Stiles wanted to go home to wash the grime from his body.

When he got home, Stiles left the windows down on his Jeep to help air out the sweaty scent from the lacrosse equipment. The cruiser was out, which meant his dad was down at the station or off on patrol still. Probably wouldn't be back until later in the evening.

He trudged into the house and up the stairs. He stripped down, fumbling with his phone. He typed a few texts to Derek, but ended up sending the simplest one.

-got home. gonna shower. whats the plan? S.

He tossed his phone on his bed, ran to the bathroom. He turned the shower water to super hot and waited until steam rose from the tub. Stiles turned down the heat, grabbed his washcloth and hopped in.

Whistling and humming to himself, Stiles cleaned up, shampooing his hair quickly and rinsing the suds from his body. Toweling off, he appraised his reflection, poking several of his moles. He frowned, wishing he had flawless skin and better muscle tone.

After pumping lotion, he slicked his skin down—no sense in letting his skin get dry at all. Moisturize moisturize moisturize his mom had always said. He wrapped the still-damp towel around his waist and padded back to his room.

He checked his phone.

-Have you had anything to eat? D.

-no, nothing since lunch. we gonna grab something? S.

Stiles, dropped the towel on the floor and scrounged around his closet for some clothes. He pushed through everything a few times.

"Fucking nothing to wear." He snatch a clean pair of boxer briefs, and put them on.

His phone buzzed on the bed.

-sure. meet me at the diner. D.

Stiles frowned at his phone. Which diner? It's not like there weren't several in Beacon Hills.

-which diner? S.

Stiles dug through his pile of jeans, pulling out a pair that looked (and smelled) clean. He hopped into the pair, pulled on some clean socks, and dug through his shirts again, opting for a plain white tee as his base shirt, pulled on a dark, rusty red shirt with full sleeves, and a long sleeve green plaid button up. He would also bring a hoodie—just in case. One could never be warm enough, that was his motto.

He checked his phone. Still no text from Derek. Stiles tapped on the glass screen absently, staring out his window. His phone buzzed.

-the diner. you know, the one on the east side of town. Annie's. D.

-okay. when should I head over? S.

-um. an hour? D.

-k. so … S.

-not telling you. it'll be a surprise that way. D.

-*dramatic sigh* fine be that way. I'll see you in a bit. S.

-okay. drive safe. D.

Stiles rolled his eyes. He picked through his backpack, pulling out some homework. He'd rather watch youtube videos, but he might as well get something productive done while he was waiting for time to pass. Though a nap was tempting …. But then he'd probably over sleep and then Derek would be all sour lemon-face.

Not a good thing. So Stiles opened up his English textbook and read more of Romeo and Juliet. He had to re-read each dialogue chunk a few times and scan the footnotes until he got it. After reading a scene, it had been forty-five minutes. Ugh.

He grabbed his wallet, keys, and phone and darted downstairs. Stuffing his wallet and phone into pockets, he reached for the front door—only to stop. He would have to leave a note for his dad, to let him know he was out.

He scrawled out a note: "Off with some friends for dinner and then hanging out. Got my phone. Love you dad, Stiles."

He stuck it to the fridge space assigned to notes. He dashed out the door, locked it behind him, then jumped in his Jeep. Thankfully his baby didn't disappointment him and started up right away. He briefly thought of magic and wondering if it would fix his car if he needed it to. Especially if he had an almost-date to get to.

Stiles had the radio turned down for most of the drive. He knew where Annie's sort of was, but not sure enough, so he listened to the voice prompts from his phone. He parked toward the back, near the tree line.

Looking around the parking lot, he didn't see the Camaro around, so Derek must not have arrived yet. The clock read just after five thirty, so it was almost an hour. Wait in the Jeep or wait inside?

Waiting in the Jeep would be less pathetic than waiting inside—if Derek didn't show up. He could just drive off and people would assume the plans had been changed, not that he'd been stood up. That was always a better option, right?

Stiles tried not to stare at his phone. It wasn't as if it would magically make Derek appear. No, he'd actually have to use magic for that and that wasn't an option yet.

So he settled on tapping his fingers against the steering wheel while watching the forest or his rear view.

-sorry, running a tad late. at a table? D.

-nope. waiting in the jeep, so don't wanna be that sorry sap that waits in the booth by himself. S.

-okay. D.

-should be there in ten. D.

-k. S.

Stiles switched to Robot Unicorn, continually running into stupid cliffs and stars. After several rounds he gave up, with a few minutes to spare until Derek said he would be here. Stiles felt himself start to panic a bit, and concentrated on his breathing. _Just breathe_. No reason to panic. None at all. Derek would show up. Derek would show up. He repeated it like a mantra for a full minute until his heart rate returned to normal. Realizing he was clutching his phone tightly, he relaxed his grip.

Looking around the lot again, Stiles watched the black camaro pull up, and then Derek get out. He started walking over to the Jeep. Stiles got out, trying not to have another panic attack, this time caused by Derek actually being there—what the hell was he supposed to do?

He felt all nervous, like his skin was on fire, and—magic, holy shit, was it? no—he took a deep, shuddering breath, as if he were going into battle. He offered Derek a brief smile.

"Hey," he said, happy he could manage any words. It had been a while since he'd been alone with Derek. Not to mention the first time they were hanging out together of their own volition.

"Hey. Ready?" Derek nodded his head toward the diner.

"Yeah. So … still in mystery mode?"

Derek's lips twitched upward.

"You know, keen," he lowered his voice, "werewolf senses," he raised his voice again, "would be great right about now. For investigative purposes of course."

Derek said nothing, turning toward the front door. Stiles ran to catch up to him. Derek held the door open for Stiles, and so he entered the diner first—but not alone (thankfully). So his fears were unfounded, but did that make his fears less real?

A hostess lead them to a booth in the back of the diner, and gave them both a menu. Stiles hurriedly looked to the fry selection—curly fries or bust. Sweet! They had curly fries. He pushed himself back into the cushions of the booth, settling in. He tried not to look at Derek, instead focusing intently on the menu before him.

Biting at his lip, Stiles' eyes flicked between Annie's Famous Burger and Uncle John's Barbecue Chicken Sandwich. Both looked good. Both came with curly fries. Did he want barbecue or did he want delicious mushrooms. Gah the decisions!

He looked to Derek for a moment—the guys seemed to be focusing even more intently at the menu, like it may have offended him or something. Derek had both his hands flat on the table, staring down. Stiles was a menu up-in-the-face kinda guy.

Stiles decided on the barbecue, and set the menu down. Now there was no barrier between him and Derek. And then Derek looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Stiles shrugged. This nonverbal communication thing? Could be alright. Could be just fine.

The waitress—someone's mom no doubt—came up to the table, her dark hair frizzy and unhealthy looking. Her eyes were tired as she pulled out the thick order pad and a pen. She looked to Stiles first (he didn't blame her, he looked more friendly—hell, anyone would look more friendly than Derek).

"Uh, I'll have the barbecue chicken sandwich, curly fries please."

She scratched it down. "To drink?"

"Oh, um. Coke?"

She nodded.

"For you?"

Derek glared at the menu a moment more. Then he glared at her. "Annie's," he said. "Medium rare, no mayo, no onions, swiss cheese. Steak fries. And lemonade."

He took Stiles' menu and his, and handed both to the waitress. She took the proffered menus and quickly left. Wow. The guy totally knew exactly what he wanted and bam. No mercy. Awkward moment of silence? Yes.

Stiles absently fiddled with his finger nails, trying to think up something to say when Derek broke the silence.

"School good today?"

Stiles looked up, noticing that Derek didn't look as composed as he normal did. Was he nervous too? If he was nervous …?

"Yeah. Harris was an ass, but he's always an ass. Thank god I didn't get detention again."

Derek raised an eyebrow again. More nonverbal. Yay.

A young guy dropped off the Coke and lemonade.

"Not like I get detention a lot … it's just that he hates me."

"He is an ass, and a total wuss."

Stiles stopped breathing for a moment, his mouth open in surprise. "You know Harris?"

"Tried to get some information on him, remember?"

"Oh. Oh right!" Stiles felt suddenly stupid. "Yeah, the whole thing."

"He was scared the whole time. Reeked of it."

Stiles sat back, playing with the ends of his button up. "So," his lips played in a smile. "If I ever have problems with him and my dad is too busy …." He looked up.

Derek had his arms crossed. "I'm not going to go scare your chemistry teacher."

Stiles sighed. "Well, it was worth a try."

Derek uncrossed his arms and picked at his nails. "How was practice?"

"Boring as usual. Ran around a bit, warmed up the bench for most of it—had to watch Scott and Jackson do drills with the rest of first line. Then we played two teams mock game. I was on Scott's. We won by a couple points."

"You make any?" Derek was looking at him, his hands stilled over his thighs.

Stiles shook his head. "Me and Greenberg just ran up and down the field. No chance for me to get the ball. No one would pass to me or to him."

Derek looked out the window. What was going on in that head? "Kinda shitty."

"You're telling me!" Stiles laughed. "But whatever. Coach needed more players on the team to qualify after a lot of the seniors left last year, and it's a good way to slack off in econ."

Derek shook his head.

The waitress rushed by, dropping off the food with a mumbled, "Enjoy."

"Oh my god, so famished," Stiles exclaimed, rolling up his sleeves. His focus became his plate and for a moment, he forgot his was eating with Derek Hale, and not his dad. So he stuffed as much of the sandwich as he could in his mouth, barbecue sauce escaping to the corners of his lips as he bit down. He slurped his Coke and grabbed several long curly fries and devoured them.

He hummed a little to himself as he ate. Sharp tingling under his skin suddenly reminded him of where he was and who he was with. So being close to Derek meant that he had more magic or more of an urge to use it or …? He swallowed and sheepishly wiped at his mouth. It was a complete wreck.

"Um. Sorry?" he said.

Derek looked nonplussed, and blinked a few times. "I've just … never seen anyone eat like that."

Stiles grinned. "I'm growing. Which means I've got to eat."

Derek seemed unsure, and took another bite from his burger. Stiles was halfway through eating and Derek had taken, what, two, three bites? And who was the half-animal here?

Stiles tried, he really tried, to eat slower, but he still managed to finish well before Derek. His hands were all sticky and no matter that he used three napkins, they still felt gross.

"Um, I'll be right back. Just gonna go wash up."

Derek nodded.

He rushed to the bathroom, relieved himself, then washed his hands and face. How stupid could he have been to get barbecue, the devour everything on his plate in 3.5 seconds? Stupid body. Good job, Stilinski, he though. Ruining your quasi-date already.

Stiles took a deep breath, and walked back to the table. His plate was already collected and Derek was chewing, but he still had plenty of food left. This would be super awkward.

"So, um. Yeah. Any hints about this great sense of fun?"

Derek smirked. "Nope," he said, taking a huge bite. Stiles could have sworn he saw fangs.

"I told my dad I'd be out."

Derek paused, shook his head, then resumed eating. Stiles went back to playing with his button up, unsure of what he should say next. He settled for alternately looking out the window and watching Derek eat.

Derek said little while he worked on the burger and fries. For being a werewolf, he ate like a normal person. Or maybe Stiles only knew Scott—and they both ate super fast.

"You know," Derek said after taking a drink of lemonade. "You should probably not eat so fast. Leads to all kinds of stomach issues."

Stiles gave him a face, sticking out his tongue. "Yeah, yeah."

Derek just smirked and finally finished his burger and the last of his fries. He pushed the plate aside, then wiped his hands clean on his napkin. He stood up and indicated he was going to the bathroom.

Stiles pulled out his phone, checking for any messages or texts. He quickly replied to Scott's text.

-ran home to shower. got lots of hw to do, you should spend the night with books not alli! S.

He composed and deleted a couple texts to Allison.

-any news from Lydia? S.

-Nothing different. You gonna visit again? A.

-yeah. probably this weekend. make sure scott does some studying. S.

-haha okay. A.

Then Stiles checked his email, nothing but spammy stuff. His dad hadn't called, and wouldn't be home for another hour or so. He pocketed his phone, glancing around the diner. A few other people were scattered around the place. Stiles didn't recognize any one, which was probably good. How would he explain why he was with Derek? He couldn't even explain it to himself.

Derek returned to the table, though he didn't sit down.

"Uh, gonna stand there all day buddy?"

"No. Get up."

"We haven't paid yet!"

Derek frowned. "Pay at the front."

"Oh. Okay."

Stiles followed Derek to the front register he hadn't noticed when he entered. Derek had the ticket in his hand. How had he grabbed it? Probably stupid werewolf powers or something. He also had his wallet—leather of course—in his hand and pulled out a ten and a twenty.

"The rest is for Molly. Thanks." Derek turned around.

"Um, how much do I owe you?" Stiles didn't know where this was going. Did Derek just pay?

"Nothing. Come on. Let's go."

"Thanks?"

Derek herded Stiles out the door. The sun had just begun to set behind the trees, pink light blushing the horizon.

"So, where are we going?" Stiles asked. Again. Maybe he'd get an answer?

"Still not telling you Stiles. Need anything from your car?" Derek was flipping his keys around his forefinger.

"Just gonna grab my hoodie. In case it gets cold."

Derek laughed. "Okay." He walked toward his car.

Stiles jogged the short distance to his Jeep and grabbed his hoodie. He took a quick look around to see if he needed anything else, but he had his wallet, keys, phone. Didn't need anything else, right?

He locked the car and jogged over to Derek's Camaro and slipped into the passenger seat. No hunters to chase them right? Stiles buckled up at Derek's silent stare.

"I was going to, sheesh."

"Right."

"Do I have to close my eyes the whole time? I'm just saying that I might fall asleep that way."

"No." Derek pulled out on to main road and headed east, out of town more. "It's fun to watch you try and figure it out."

"I'm just hoping this 'fun' doesn't involve lots of hunting wild animals."

"Stiles."

"I'm just saying, that's all."

"I'm also a human."

"I know that." Stiles watched the trees flick by.

"Good."

Stiles glanced over at Derek, his hand casually resting on the stick shift. Of the few times they'd shared a vehicle, this was the most awkward. And the damn tingling was starting to itch. Stiles really wanted to go release a thunderbolt or something. This was getting crazy. Would it be like this every time he was with Derek?

"How's the whole alpha thing going for ya?" Be strong Stiles. Make conversation. You're good at that.

Derek gave him a really-you-just-asked-that look. "I could rip your throat out faster than I could have before."

"I see it's improved your mood."

Derek snorted. "My mood is stronger and more alpha-y."

"Oh my god! You made another joke? This has to be a record. Hold on. No, really Derek hold on. I need to put this in my calendar."

Derek snatched at his phone and Stiles narrowly avoided loosing it. Derek was smiling. He looked different, really good. He always looked good, but he looked relaxed and just … good. Stiles smiled back.

"Lydia hasn't changed, you know. I was thinking about visiting her this weekend. You know, moral support and all."

"Huh."

"Yeah. Allison's worried about her. Which means Scott's also worried about her. Don't know about Jackson, but I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't been to visit since she was admitted."

"Do you still love her?" Derek's voice was quiet. No sense in lying to the man. Werewolf powers and all.

"Yes? And no?" Stiles drummed his tapped his finger on the window button. "I mean, sure, she'll always mean something to me, but there is no way we'll ever be together. She's so in love with Jackson. Even when we were dancing, she kept her eyes on him. I can't let myself hurt anymore. At least I know my place with her, you know."

"Yeah. I know." Derek kept his eyes on the road.

"Thanks. For dinner. You didn't have to." Stiles felt a little warm.

Derek's grip on the wheel tightened. Good or bad?

"You're welcome."

"Mind?" Stiles turned on the radio.

"No, go ahead. Just don't change the presets."

Stiles tuned through the channels, settling on the alternative rock station. He hummed along with the song, until commercials started through the station, then he switched between two other channels until music once again came through the speakers.

Stiles must have changed the station a few too many times, because Derek reached over and turned off the radio. Stiles was about to say something—a look to Derek and Stiles mouth went dry. His mouth was slightly open like he was about to speak.

"You," he said. "You smell different."

_Fuck._ Stiles concentrated on not freaking out.

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I mean you smell different."

"Alpha senses? Could that be?"

"No. Well, probably not. Everyone else smells the same. Not you."

Stiles racked his brain. Drugs. Thank god he had an excuse. Derek did _not _need to know about magic in the beginning stages of their fragile relationship.

"I stopped taking Adderall this week. Doctor says I no longer need it."

Derek breathed in, exhaling slowly. He shrugged. "Could be. Medication might have changed your scent."

"Bad thing?"

He shrugged again. "Not really bad or good. Just different."

"Scott said the same thing before. It's like knowing someone right?"

Derek nodded.

Stiles let his gaze linger on Derek's cheekbones a moment, before he looked away to watch the road. They would be in the next town, or just about. While he appreciated the change of scenery—and the chance to avoid potentially awkward conversations—he had to wonder about the need for it. Though let Scott and Allison make out in the preserve. Not that he'd be making out with Derek, would he? That might be a bit … strange? How did stubble feel? Change the thoughts, Stiles.

"Almost there," Derek said. His lips twitched upward.

"This mean I'm supposed to close my eyes? So I'm surprised by the werewolf fun secret?"

Derek gave Stiles an oh-really? look and concentrated on the road. "Only if you want."

"Fine, fine. I'll play along." Stiles closed his eyes. "Just for you."

His skin itched with the tingling electricity of magic. Closing his eyes focused on that. He would need to release the magic soon, but how? Stiles did not really want to have to erase Derek's memory, or try to mask the scent—how would that be possible anyway? No. He'd have to channel it the old fashioned way. He took a few deep breaths, relaxing. The thrumming subsided a little bit. Acknowledging the power in such a way seemed to help. How had his mom done this for so long?

Stiles felt the car turn to the left. He resisted opening his eyes. The car turned to the right and again to the right, then stopped.

"Can I open my eyes yet?" Stiles knew they were somewhere.

"Yeah. You can."

His saw part of a parking lot, the highway and some trees. Stiles was about to turn around, but Derek clicked his tongue.

"Come on. Just a second more."

"Fine." Stiles unlatched his seatbelt and opened the door. And Derek was right there, blocking his view. "Oh my god, you are insane."

"No, not quite. That was Peter's job."

Stiles leaned to look past Derek. And almost laughed.

"FunTimes Mini Golf? Awesome!"

Derek gave him a little smirk. "See? We can have fun like normal people."

Stiles snorted. "Okay, okay. Fine you are right. You can have fun."

"It's not too cheesy is it?" Derek stuffed his hands into his leather jacket. Stiles reached behind him for the hoodie shrugging into it while shutting the car door.

Following Derek, Stiles said, "Nope. Whoever says it's cheesy obviously is an accountant and doesn't know how to have fun."

"You should probably not watch TV. Not all accountants are boring people." Derek looked back at him.

"And you would know because?" Stiles asked. This was going to be awesome. He was so going to kick Derek's ass at this. Stiles was a superb mini-golfer. Like crazy good. And he'd played this course several times and knew most of the traps. He resisted grinning like a fool.

"Because I've been outside of Beacon Hills and maybe I've meet more than one accountant."

"You mean Mr. Gordon isn't the only one?"

"Ha, very funny, Stiles."

Bright lights from the sign illuminated the parking lot. They had to pass through the game center—full of arcade games, air hockey, table tennis and more—and go back outside to the golf course. Stiles could have gone for a game of air hockey or maybe bumper carts, but he might afterward to make Derek feel better. He was so going to lose!

A rather dour looking pimply boy greeted them at the rental counter. "Welcome to Funtimes Mini Golf, how many in your party, sir?" His voice was monotone.

"Two," Derek said.

"Okay. Please be aware of our rules. One, avoid hitting your ball too hard and into the parking lot or any of the bodies of water. Two, do not use your putter as a weapon. Three, be respectful of those before you in the course and those behind you. Four, have fun." The last sentence held no expression—maybe a hint of distaste. He looked at them both expectantly.

"Okay," Stiles said.

Derek shrugged.

"That will be sixteen dollar, please. Thank you." The kid reached behind him and grabbed two putters and two golf balls. One red and one orange. Derek took them. "You'll start on hole 10, work through to 18 and start back on 1 through 9."

"You can have the red one," Stiles said. "To match your eyes."

Derek shook his head and handed Stiles a putter and the orange ball. "Thanks," he said to the kid. Well he was probably Stiles' age. Maybe younger …. Stiles grabbed a score sheet and a pencil.

"Have you played a lot before," Stiles asked. They walked past the first nine holes, following the signs. A young couple with a little girl played on hole 4. The sun had set and the whole course was lit by bright florescent lights.

"I used to play when I was younger. It's been a while."

"My mom used to take me." Stiles felt okay telling a little bit of his past to Derek. It still hurt, but it was nice to have a memory of her here. A bubble tugged in his mind, waiting for release. Perhaps? Flashes of time spent with her here, the careful alignment of shots. His mom had been a pro at mini golf.

"Mine too." Derek said nothing more, setting his ball on the fake grass, eyeing the distance to the hole. He swung a few times, then eyed Stiles. "No distractions during swings. Or I will rip your throat out."

Stiles shrugged extending his hands. "You got it buddy."

Derek grinned—it didn't look too friendly. He turned back to the task at hand, and tapped the ball. It rolled true and sunk into the hole. Well, hole 1 and hole 10 were both easy. Stiles wrote down Derek's score and set down his own ball, handing over the paper to Derek to hold.

Stiles took a breath and swung a few times. Relaxed, he lined up his shot, and sunk it, hole in one as well. He gave Derek a small smile. They moved to the next hole. Derek did not look as smug as he had a moment ago.

Hole 11 was empty, so Derek teed up again, walking over to the hole and checking back to front. It just got serious. Derek was worried about losing? Probably was going to use super werewolf senses or something. And Stiles wasn't even going to use magic! He didn't need to.

Derek took his time lining up the shot, and tapped. He over shot a little bit, so the ball rolled over the top and bounced off the lip, resting a few inches away from the hole. Stiles smiled. Scott had told him about Lydia's attempt to suck at bowling. Stiles was so not going to do that.

He lined up his shot, and swung, taking into account the tiny dip near the hole. He'd played _that_ many times. The ball sank in again. Hole in one. Stiles would not gloat, nope. He simply marked down his score and waiting for Derek to putt in his ball, writing down two for him.

Derek was two below par and Stiles three. So far. He usually scored in the low twenties. Derek was actually pretty damn good at this. Probably had to do with super sight or something.

Toward the end of the first half, Derek had managed mostly birdies, and Stiles had mostly holes in one. Stiles had ten points and Derek and fourteen when they arrived at Hole 18.

"How do you manage this, Stiles?" Derek asked.

"I played a lot. Like a lot. My mom loved playing so we'd come here once a month or more when I was young. It was one of the last things we did together."

"Oh."

Stiles offered Derek a smile. "Scott won't play with me anymore. Me and my dad come once in a while, but not as much as we used to."

Derek hit his ball and it went through the windmill, shooting through and landing a good distance from the hole. Stiles's shot past the windmill blades and down a different hole and his ball landed within easy distance.

"I should have mentioned it. You've been super grumpy since the beginning. Sorry."

"Don't be."

"Using your 'abilities'," Stiles said looking around. "To make it a little easier?"

Derek stiffened. "Maybe."

"Ha! I knew it. Don't worry. I'll still beat you." Stiles tapped his in gently, going out of turn to piss Derek off a little.

Derek glared at him. "Move." Stiles got off the green and waited on the cement. He hit the ball in after two strokes.

"Oh come on!" Stiles pouted. "I'm horrible at the whole bump-in-the-dark stuff. Can't I be good at this?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Come on. We have nine more holes to go. Score?"

"I have 12; you have 17. That's quite a bit under par, you know."

"I'm well aware. I used to beat everyone in my family."

"So you used to play a lot?" Stiles asked. He couldn't imagine a bunch of werewolves playing mini golf, but then again, he was playing one right now.

"Not really, once or twice a year." Derek rolled his shoulders a few times, teeing up for Hole 1.

They spoke little for the remainder of the course, Derek mostly growling when Stiles got a hole in one or a birdie, or Derek telling him to get off the green so he could make a shot. It was much more fun when Scott played—he'd whine and complain, yes, but they could just hang out too. Derek was taking the whole thing seriously. No wonder Lydia let Jackson beat her in bowling, in everything. He guessed it would just make things easier. But Stiles wasn't that kind of person.

His concentration was good, and the tingling thrumming under his skin calmed down as he focused on hitting the ball. It was nice, not having that itch chasing him. Stiles let his mind wander while waiting for Derek to finish up each time.

At the very last hole, Derek made a hole in one and hooted—hooted! Stiles took a birdie and Derek gloated.

"I finally beat you on one!" Derek grinned.

"Yes, you did." Stiles smiled. At least he wasn't being all sour. "Wanna go bumper carts?"

"No thanks, Stiles. Don't you need to be getting home?"

"Come on, Derek! It'll be fun." Stiles turned on the puppy eyes. Though he knew he had nothing on Scott. He hoped it would work. "Please?"

Derek avoided looking at him, sighing. "Fine. One round."

"Yes! This will be awesome!"

Stiles ran to the bumper cart area and Derek followed. Before Derek could reach for his wallet, Stiles had paid. Triumphant at paying for something, Stiles ran into the track and grabbed number 4. Derek took number 7. A few people were already waiting—some kid and his mom, a girl and two younger teens. Derek looked pretty ridiculous in a bumper car. He probably did too. Stiles heard the electricity hum on.

Cackling, he drove crazy, avoiding the kids, and bumping into the teens before crashing into Derek. He turned away and was slammed from the side. By Derek. Who was grinning at Stiles misfortune at being t-boned. Stiles then chased Derek down and pinned him against the wall, with the kids' mom bashing up against him as well. Derek sandwich, with unwelcome guest, but he still high-fived the woman.

Derek got him good with the little boy helping out. Just as Stiles was about to ram Derek again, the power for the cars turned off, and he barely bumped Derek's car. He sighed. Oh well, it was fun.

"Have a good time, there?" Derek stood up and rolled his shoulders a few times.

"I love bumper cars! They are awesome. Don't deny it."

"I didn't say they weren't. Ready?"

Stiles shrugged. He checked his phone. It was almost ten. "Yeah, probably should head back." Though he didn't want to, not yet.

Derek nodded. He walked off, Stiles followed close behind. He gave the place one last glance before getting into the car. He carefully patted his breast pocket, feeling the score card and receipt for the bumper cars. He was going to keep them. This had definitely been a date.

In moments, they were back on the road to Beacon Hills.

"Well, I can now say that you know how to have fun. You did have fun right?" Stiles felt a bit jittery being in the shared space again with Derek, the thrumming returning with the close proximity.

"Yeah. I did. Nice change of pace. No murders, no emergencies."

Stiles sighed. "Totally agree with you. This past week has been nice. Don't think it will last though."

"Probably not."

Stiles gazed at Derek's hand, so close to him. He wanted to reach out and touch his skin, feel the heat against his own hand. He swallowed.

"Thanks for taking me, Derek."

Derek said nothing for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing. "You're welcome, Stiles."

He felt something shift in him. Oh god. He wanted to kiss Derek so bad right now. But he resisted. He didn't know if Derek really wanted it or not. Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, to try to banish the thoughts.

He couldn't.

He opened his eyes. The road was so dark, the only light was from Derek's headlamps. Stiles felt the sudden urge to grab Derek's hand. And he couldn't fight it. His hand slowly moved over, and he stared. Was this damn magic stuff coming in to take the awkward away? Maybe Stiles liked awkward. Did magic think of that?

And suddenly his hand was over Derek's. The flesh beneath was surprisingly cool. Not overheated like he thought it would be. Stiles let his hand rest a moment. The compulsion wasn't there anymore. Derek looked over to Stiles, then down at his hand. He didn't move.

Stiles slowly dug his fingers between Derek's, curling into them. Derek didn't resist. Stiles exhaled in relief—he wasn't going to be killed. Well, at least not yet. All of Stiles' focus was on his fingers, and the sharp tingling sensation that faded as soon as he touched Derek. It felt so perfect, so normal.

Stiles opened his mouth a few times, trying to ask Derek something. But he couldn't make himself speak the words. He wanted Derek to understand and take the awkward away. Derek wanted this as well right? As if in answer, Derek squeezed his hand around Stiles' fingers.

He relaxed more. Derek did want it. Apparently he couldn't talk either.

They both sat in silence the entire ride back to the diner, their hands remaining together, even if Derek had to shift. Too soon, they pulled up to Annie's and Derek parked next to Stiles' Jeep. Derek spread his finger, releasing Stiles' from his grip. Slowly, Stiles pulled his hand back to him, uncomfortable with the loss. Derek turned off the engine, and got out. Gentleman? Stiles unfolded himself from the car.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, watching the ground until he saw Derek's shoes in front of. He looked up, into Derek's beautiful green-blue eyes. He gave him a half smile.

"Thanks again for tonight."

Derek had his hands in his pocket. "You're welcome. Thanks for … hanging out with me."

Stiles did smile at that. He had made the first move. Should he make another? He clapped his hands against his thighs.

"I guess I should get going. Home and all."

"I guess." Derek continued looking at him, his eyes flitting around but almost always settling on his own. Stiles didn't move. Neither did Derek.

He took a breath, taking one step toward the Jeep's driver side door. Derek was suddenly crowding his space. Stiles didn't move, didn't breath. Derek's hands hesitated in the air over his shoulders before resting lightly. He could feel the light pressure, the warm breath so close. Derek leaned in, kissing Stiles lightly on the lips, barely a graze.

He had no time to react before Derek was on the other side of the Camaro, getting in. Tires squealed as the car bolted from the lot, leaving a confused Stiles behind. Had he just been kissed by Derek? Did lips barely touching count as kissing?

He felt light. Lighter than 147 pounds of sarcasm. Like he could float away on drift on warm currents.

Stiles shook his head, climbing into his Jeep and driving the short ten minutes to home. His dad's cruiser was in the driveway and the house lights were on. Which meant his dad was up and probably working. But he'd had no missed calls and no texts from anyone.

He parked in his usual spot and got out of the Jeep, walking with trepidation to the door. His dad was reading something at the kitchen table. Stiles shut the door quietly behind him.

"Stiles?" His dad called out before looking.

"Yup. Made it home."

"Good good. Just doing some work here. Where did you go?"

"Annie's, then off to mini golf." Stiles leaned against the door frame, watching his dad. At least he wasn't lying about where he was.

"You win? And Scott didn't give any warning?"

A few reports lay on the table—nothing that looked interesting to Stiles.

"Of course I won. 25 strokes. I'm getting out of the habit."

"Not too shabby. You're best score was wait, 19?"

"Yes," Stiles said. "Don't remind me of my almost perfect game."

"Have fun?"

Stiles smiled, and his dad grinned as well. "Yeah. It was nice to get out and play again. Reminded me of mom, the good times."

His dad reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Good to hear. You've been so serious lately. Melissa called. Lydia's doing better she said. Should wake up sometime tomorrow maybe. You gonna go visit?"

Stiles nodded. "Thought I'd grab some homework and hang out over there during visiting hours. You know, make sure she's okay."

His dad nodded. "Good man. I'll give you some money tomorrow for lunch. I expect you home for dinner, okay?"

"Okay. And make it a twenty," he said. "I'll have to go elsewhere for good food."

The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Heading to bed?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Soon, just going to finish up some of this."

"Okay." Stiles took a step toward the stairs. "Don't want to find you down here snoozing again though."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you in the morning kiddo."

"Goodnight Dad."

"Night, son."

Stiles ran up the stairs, opening his door to find Aelfrick standing there. The man wore what he thought were official robes: white with red slashes. Stiles stopped, closing his door behind him.

"Uh. Hi?" Stiles said.

"My, you've been busy, I see." Aelfrick smiled. "Good thing Concomitants can't resist each other very well. And before you ask, that hand business was no one's doing but yours."

"Why are you here?" Stiles was a bit surprised to see the older man standing in his room.

"Just checking up on you." Aelfrick leaned against the desk. "Making sure you're doing alright as an Inspector."

"I guess? Things seem to be okay. It's been quiet."

Aelfrick shrugged.

"And Derek is the alpha, which I'm guess you knew. I've been keeping the magic on the downlow too. Though I'm still a little itchy to use some."

"Takes time to control that. You might want to release some energy. Never good to have it in all the time."

"Is it the same for you?"

Aelfrick shook his head.

Stiles frowned. "Well, it's been a lovely chat, but I should probably go split a tree or something."

"Or something. Hope the memories come back like they should."

And Aelfrick was no longer there, just a touch of mists hanging around the desk. Stiles reached out with his magic to caress the air. He had a faint image of Aelfrick in a white palatial building with red tiles lined by pristine columns. The image faded as the mists dissipated. Huh.

What sort of magic might be useful? What would even be useful to people?

Stiles gather up his magic, the thrumming insistent and almost painful under his skin. He thought of a sense of peace, a sense of well-being and normalcy and projected that in a wide circle, the boundaries of Beacon Hills as his stoping points. Scott and Derek wouldn't be able to smell magic from this far would they? He supposed it would have nothing to do with the actual magic and more to do with the person. Right?

Feeling considerably better about the pent up energy being gone, Stiles stripped and fell into bed. Warm, comfy bed. He thought of Derek and the almost-kiss. He could still feel the slight warmth and wetness against his own lips, a barest touching—could still feel the strength of Derek's hand beneath his own. Well, that was a date.

Did it go okay? Was it bad? Stiles wasn't sure: no previous experience to go by and well, Derek practically ran away. He wanted a next time, please let there be a next time. Stiles fell asleep soon, tired after the long day.

He dreamed of a black wolf with green eyes curling around him, gently nuzzling his neck.

* * *

Notes: Let me know what you think. Your love is what keeps me going!

You can find me on tumblr (hbrooks01) whining about life (sometimes) and writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys.


	16. Hot Plates and Blankets

Sweating and naked, Derek woke up. The interior of the warehouse was sweltering, despite the cool night air that drifted in. He checked his phone. Four in the morning. He groaned and rolled on to his stomach, hoping he could go back to sleep. His skin felt hot and itchy, covered in sweat. No way was he going to be able fall asleep again. Getting off the nest of blankets he called a bed, he walked over to the shower area and turned the water on twisting it to cold.

The stream of water was like ice on his overheated skin. It felt so good. Steam rose from the contact and Derek wondered why he was so warm. He lingered in the cold spray until he felt normal, and grabbed a towel to dry off. The warehouse still felt too warm, but now he didn't feel like he was going to sweat to death. He padded to the old refrigerator and poured himself some filtered water—no sense in overloading his system with unfiltered if he didn't have to.

It was deliciously cold. He guzzled two glasses, setting his cup on the top of the ancient fridge. It was still too warm, so Derek left the building after pulling on his jeans, and bounded to the roof to gaze at the stars.

Night air chilled his skin, goosebumps rising at the touch of cold. He could think again out here. He would have suspected wolfsbane for the sweat and heat, but he couldn't smell it, nor did he ingest any. Taking a deep breath, he reveled in the absolute quite of the early morning.

Yesterday … last night. Derek took another breath to calm his rapidly beating heart. He plucked the receipt from paying for dinner and mini golf, flattening them carefully, reading the digits. Sentimentality didn't sit well with him, but … it was his first date with his mate. He wanted to keep some proof that he'd at least attempted normalcy with the whole thing. He wanted to remember years from now, have physical proof. Not that losing to Stiles was something he wanted to remember, but the time he spent? That was different. He took another shuddering breath.

His skin felt over sensitive, and was warming to the touch. He didn't feel sick, but it wasn't normal. Maybe it had to do with the mate thing? He hoped that was the case. It would be the easiest explanation.

Under the light of the moon, Derek extended his right hand, staring at where Stiles' hand had been for the entire drive home. Derek had even gone the speed limit to extend the time Stiles was close. It was as if Stiles couldn't control himself, just grabbing Derek's hand. Closing his eyes, he could still feel the heat from Stiles and the rough hands against his skin. God, did it feel so good. Like it was supposed to be, like they fit together. He'd never touched another man like that, never held hands, never went on dates. Was he putting the whole thing out of proportion?

He had to run away from Stiles, not to protect him, but …. Derek didn't know what he was doing. He traced his lips with his left index finger remembering the kiss, the soft feel of Stiles against his own mouth.

Derek had wanted so much more, wanted to shove Stiles against the Jeep and kiss him senseless. But did Stiles want him that much? Was it too early to kiss passionately?

For what seemed liked the millionth time, Derek cursed Kate's name again. If he'd only been open about who he was, and the people he liked, perhaps he'd have answers to his stupid questions. Stiles talked so much, why didn't he mention if he liked Derek? Well, the hand holding was nice, but was there more? Was Stiles taking it slow?

Derek knew Stiles had just as little experience, based on the short conversations they'd had, what he'd overheard from Scott. He could not expect Stiles to initiate everything—one reason why he'd given him the ghost of a kiss.

Derek sat on the roof for a long time, surprisingly energetic. The horizon lightened, the day beginning. Life returning to the world filled his ears. He watched the sunrise, the sky turning pink with the first rays of the sun. It was beautiful.

Derek had no idea what to do. He thought the date had been successful, dinner only had some awkward conversation. But overall? They hadn't fought. Much. That had to be good right? He wished he could have woken next to Stiles in the morning.

He was attached. The positive physical contact yesterday between them had banished any doubts lingering about Stiles being his mate. His great aunt had said she just knew, in every inch of her body, in every sense when she had found her mate. Derek _knew._ It was like saying the sun rose in the east and set in the west. Like saying water flowed downhill. Stiles simply was his mate, and Derek had no doubts.

Unbidden, twin tears chased each other down his cheeks and he rubbed them away. He didn't deserve such love, someone like him didn't deserve anything good. But he could no more turn away from Stiles than cut himself in half. He was in love.

Jumping down from the roof, Derek went back into the warehouse, the air stale but no longer superheated. He quickly ate a bowl of cereal—something that had been on sale—though he wanted eggs. It had been a while. He'd need to get a hot plate or something so he could cook them. Maybe he could go into town or something today.

After he rinsed and cleaned his bowl, he opened a few windows to air out the place. He checked his phone. It was seven twenty-two. He'd been up for over three hours already, but he didn't feel tired at all. Maybe Stiles had something to do with it. No messages from anyone. Would it be creepy to send a message to Stiles this early on a Saturday?

Well, Stiles probably thought he ran through the woods all night every night, so did it really matter?

-Good morning, Stiles. D.

With nothing much better to do, Derek threw on his tank top and shorts. He started his calisthenics routine to keep his mind busy with counting and not thinking about a certain sixteen year old with gorgeous honey eyes and …. Three, four, five. Derek moved through his routine in the hour he usually gave himself. Should he go running today? Probably. Keeping up his physique meant he could do better against the hunters. He knew Gerard would be arriving soon. That man was worse than Kate in almost every way.

He grabbed his phone. No messages from Stiles. Probably still sleeping, exhausted from all that mini golf winning or something. He plugged his phone in, and took off out of the building. He ran the perimeter of the warehouse district, then zig-zagged throughout, memorizing the labyrinth of byways and alleys crisscrossing the area. If this was going to be his new home—for however long—he needed to make sure he knew it inside and outside. Living in the woods would have been a better choice, but this would serve better against hunters.

He returned to the warehouse just before nine, and he saw he had a few texts from Stiles. He smiled as he read through them.

-you wake up too early. its saturday derek. S.

-and good morning to you to grumpy. S.

-so im going to check on lydia, bring some homework, so you know. S.

-not gonna slack off. S.

-um, you mad about the whole thing yesterday? S.

Derek sighed, scratching at his stubble. He set the phone down to continue charging and took another shower, this time soaping down his skin and hair. He quickly jerked himself off, thinking of Stiles running his hands up and down his chest, letting his come wash down the drain with the clear water. Feeling calmer, Derek dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a dark shirt.

-okay. I'm not upset, I did better on the last hole anyway. D.

-really? you seemed grumpy. S.

-I don't like losing. Usually losing = death. D.

-oh. um. so were being all wolfy this morning? S.

-no, I couldn't sleep, so I watched the sunrise. D.

He didn't know why he was being honest with Stiles. Probably because he couldn't help himself, and also because he wanted to curl around the young man and tell him everything all the time. Even if he had to resist a lot of the time.

-bummer dude. you all sleepy now? S.

-not really. I feel fine. don't give me the stupid powers thing. it's not the reason. D.

-OMG is it because of me? ;) S.

-… D.

-thats not a valid response, d. S.

Derek laughed. D? Really? he set his phone down threw open a few more windows. The place was still stuffy

-Derek! Don't be mad. Please? S.

-i'm not mad. D.

-its kinda hard to tell. hey, you wanna keep me company while i wait for sleeping beauty to wake up? S.

-do I have to go through a large wall of thorns that will kill me and leave my body rotting on the prickly protrusions? D.

-huh? S.

-never mind. I have a few things to do today. maybe we can meet for lunch? D.

His phone buzzed in his hand. Stiles was calling him. He hesitated a moment before answering.

"Hey," Derek said.

"Oh my god, please? Lunch would be great. Derek, the food at the cafeteria is the worst! My dad gave me twenty bucks."

"Ooh," Derek purred. "Where are you taking me?"

"Huh? Where am I taking you?"

"Yes. That's what I asked, Stiles."

Stiles sputtered on the other end of the line, and Derek smiled, trying hard not to laugh.

"Uh. Um. I don't know? Aren't you going to drive here?"

"I don't have to drive to get there." Derek leaned against a wall, still grinning.

"You wouldn't. In broad daylight?"

"Stiles. You're avoiding my question."

Stiles sighed. "Um, aren't you supposed to take me? Because I'm younger?"

"You asked me," Derek said, glad he could modulate his voice to sound more angry. Otherwise he would have been laughing.

"You don't play fair."

Derek did laugh. "Neither do you. So. Where are you taking me?"

"There's a pretty good sandwich shop near here?"

"Okay. How about you'll find me at your Jeep in a couple hours."

"Derek, that's a little creepy."

"Stiles." Derek shook his head. Really, was he that dense? It was just easy to meet him at the Jeep than to have to go into the hospital and try to find him. Plus, if Scott's mom was there, that might be weird too.

"Fine, fine. I'll meet you there."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye," Stiles said.

Derek hung up and sent a text to Stiles.

-And don't just sit there thinking about lunch. Do some homework. D.

-ugh! fine. S.

Derek rolled his eyes, and pocketed his phone. While he did have some errands he needed to run, he could have just sat with Stiles all day. Even doing nothing with Stiles was better than the most exciting day without Stiles. When had that happened? Derek glanced around the warehouse.

So, some groceries, maybe and then a trip to pick up that hot plate and maybe a few more blankets. Though he had to build up his pack, it wouldn't hurt to have some extras anyway. Derek left the windows open, but turned off the lights. He grabbed his keys and made sure that on cursory inspection, the place would still look abandoned and empty.

He drove first to the local Target—in the next town over. Navigating the aisles was a bitch and a half. He filled his cart with a hot plate, two pans, a few stirring utensils, dish soap, sponges, wash clothes, more towels, a good few blankets. He didn't get everything he needed or wanted, but it was a good start. Checking out, he paid for everything and stuffed it into the trunk of the Camaro. Now to grab some groceries.

He drove back to Beacon Hills, the time just before 11. So he had a bit of time before he was supposed to meet Stiles at the hospital. Good. He parked in front of Max's—the local grocery store. Derek liked fresh, local food. It was usually cheaper anyway.

Grabbing a hand basket, he bought two dozen eggs, three packages of beef jerky, a bag of organic apples, filled a produce bag with lentils—high in protein—a huge bag of sliced deli meat, a loaf of bread, and four avocados. That should last a couple days.

When he returned to the abandoned warehouse, he quickly unpacked his groceries and downed a huge glass of water. He checked the two bags to make sure that nothing that needed refrigeration was left out. Satisfied, Derek dashed out and drove the short distance to the hospital.

He was a few minutes early, so he lounged against his car for a moment while searching for Stiles' distinctive vehicle. Upon spotting it, he dashed over (using super speed of course) to a suitable ambush spot. It was simply too fun to startle Stiles.

Derek waited a couple minutes until he heard Stiles' distinctive muttering. Then he caught Stiles' scent. He smelled different that he had before, almost like there was something he should know about him. It was true he no longer smelled like medication, but that wasn't the exact difference. He'd have to puzzle it out later.

Standing very still, Derek waited until Stiles arrived at the Jeep and began looking around. Not seeing Derek right away, he began to mutter something about "sourwolves" and "never on time." He began to smell a little of disappointment, and Derek decided to "magically appear" right in front of Stiles.

"Jesus!" Stiles breathed. "Derek! That is so not cool. You're going to give me a premature heart attack if you keep doing that."

Derek gave Stiles his best smile. "But it's fun to startle you."

"Yeah, yeah. You so owe me."

"Nah."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Get in, creeper."

Derek hopped into the passenger seat of the blue Jeep. Stiles climbed in, offered a silent prayer and started the machine. Derek remained silent for the short trip to the deli. He listened to his mate's heartbeat growing steady—could listen to the hypnotic rhythm forever.

Stiles rolled into the parking lot, and got out. Derek followed him inside. The place smelled amazing. He realized he was hungry.

"What do you want?" Stiles asked.

Derek looked up at the menu, picking out what he wanted.

"Italian special. Why?"

Stiles pointed to the few tables outside. "Hold down one for us. Lemonade? Chips?"

Derek shrugged. "Yeah that'd be nice."

Stiles left him to go order. Derek stepped outside to claim a table for them. There was one left. Derek caught the eye of a young(ish) boy who saw the table at the same time. Using super speed (not a full power), Derek slid into of the chairs and smirked as the boy looked defeated. That's right. Mine.

He waited patiently, watching the sun alternately hide behind clouds and expose itself. After a few minutes, Stiles plopped down next to him, two sandwiches, two drinks and two bags of chips in hand.

"Glad I told you to come grab one, though carrying all this was a bitch."

Derek offered Stiles a small smile. "Thanks, Stiles."

Stiles waved the thanks away, as if it was nothing. "You're welcome. Now, you better eat it."

Derek took a huge bite to prove he would. Stiles laughed.

"So," Derek said after swallowing. "Getting all your homework done?"

"Yeah. Been doing a lot of reading ahead. You know, in case of super secret business."

Derek rolled his eyes.

"And," Stiles continued, "Lydia is fine. Doctors won't talk to me, but her mom was in earlier and they said she should be good. Scott and I checked the other day, and the bite wasn't healing."

Derek chewed. What would that mean?

"People take it differently. Either you live or you die."

Stiles ate just as fast today as he had last night. It was fascinating and disturbing at the same time. He wondered if Scott ate just as fast, and probably thought the two would be similar enough. With a short lunch period, and the general laziness of students, Derek thought Stiles was probably used to scarfing down two meals a day—at least—for the last few years.

"You gonna finish that?" Stiles said.

Just because, Derek growled.

"Fine, fine. I won't touch it. No need to get all growly on me. So did you run all your errands today?"

Derek nodded, his mouth full of sandwich. He swallowed. "Target and Max's."

"Oh wow. All the way out there? That's like the total opposite of your house."

"Moved to a different location for security. If the hunters know where I am …"

"Oh. So," Stiles leaned back and stretched. Derek let his eyes wander for a brief moment. "Where are you staying now."

Derek gave him a look. "Aren't you friends with Allison?"

"Of course. Remember she 'set fire to the reign?' of our dear friend?"

"She's also a hunter."

"And?"

"And, so was Kate." Derek savagely finished off his lunch.

"Well, she's different." Stiles drank his Coke.

Derek shrugged. He didn't want to get into an argument with Stiles over Allison. She was a hunter, she would be a hunter. It was in her blood as much as being a werewolf was in his. She would have to hunt. Stiles would see it; Scott would see it too.

"Okay, talk about something else then," Stiles mumbled. "Um. So you about ready to head back?"

Derek shrugged. "What's wrong with enjoying the day for a bit?"

"Nothing."

Derek eyed Stiles. He looked a little upset, though his scent had that slight disappointment. He just wasn't ready for Stiles to know where he was. If Allison decided to torture for information … he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Just because he had feelings for Stiles didn't mean he trusted him with his life just yet.

"I have my reasons you know."

Stiles shrugged. "I know."

Derek crumpled up the paper and the left over bits of his lunch, did the same with Stiles' and took them to the trash. He turned and lounged until Stiles caught him not returning. Stiles now smelled angry on top of the disappointment.

When Stiles reached him, he said, "I thought you wanted to enjoy the day."

"I did. Don't want to impose on your time though."

Stiles worked his jaw for a moment. "Fine."

Well, this wasn't going well. But Derek wasn't going to tell him where he lived if he could help it. Not yet. Derek said nothing on the way back to the hospital, and Stiles usual exuberance was gone, replaced by the distinct smell of sulking. He wanted to make it right, but just didn't know how.

Stiles parked the car, unlatching his seat belt. Before he could escape, Derek grabbed hold of him.

"Sorry," he said. He did mean it.

Stiles looked down to where Derek's hand was clutched around his arm, and back up. Stiles hadn't moved. Derek leaned in, drawn toward the frown creasing Stiles lips in a way he didn't like. He moved closer and closer, his lips brushing against Stiles' again. He could feel the pulse of blood quicken, and he smiled.

Pressing closer, Derek pushed firmly against Stiles. He remained impassive for a moment, then Stiles opened up, relenting some of the anger and Derek was pleased. This was some progress. Wanting to respect Stiles, Derek used no tongue, just lips and after a few moments pulled away.

"Thanks again for lunch, Stiles."

"Your welcome." Stiles eyes were glazed.

Derek quietly left the Jeep and walked away. Breathing in the fresh air cleared his mind. Arousal was not always a pleasant scent, but from Stiles? It smelled like honey and walnuts. It was intoxicating. Control was Derek's thing, and he enjoyed having it over his own body, one reason why he left Stiles to ponder the next step.

After all, he wanted to make sure Stiles knew that he was interested. One almost kiss wasn't enough. This, this would ensure that he was aware. Perhaps, Stiles would forgive him for the trust, but he doubted it.

* * *

Notes:

I'm heading on a short vacation tomorrow, and I have a short to write in the Sterek-verse, but I'll try to update while I'm gone! 3

You can find me on a href=" "tumblr/a (hbrooks01) whining about life and writing, but mostly I reblog the pretty faces of our two lover boys.


	17. Strawberry Blonde in the Woods

_Stiles is sitting next to Derek, their knees touching. Derek's leather jacket lies on the bench back. Reaching forward Stiles leans into Derek's solid frame._

_"I'm still pissed you know." Stiles brushes his fingers along Derek's stubble. He is so beautiful._

_"I know." Derek leans forward, his hands cupping Stiles' jaw, drawing him closer._

_Derek opens his mouth slightly, kissing Stiles. Stiles groans into the kiss, the sudden pressure too much. He feels on fire, like he is boiling from the inside. Derek pulls away for a moment._

_"Is that okay?"_

_"Okay?" Stiles said. "Just like that. Perfect."_

_Derek smiles, kissing Stiles again. If he could have melted into a puddle of goo, Stiles surely would have. Stiles opens his mouth more, trying to crawl into Derek's hot mouth: starting with his tongue. It isn't working well, but that doesn't stop Stiles from trying. Derek bites at Stiles' lower lip, drawing his teeth up slowly, sending strong vibrations down to Stiles' feet. It is unbelievable hot, so much his brain shuts down at the simple motion._

_Derek pulls back, his hand resting hotly on Stiles' chest. Stiles pushes against the hand, trying to get back to Derek's mouth where he _really_ wants to be. All over that sinful mouth._

_"You are so beautiful."_

_Stiles feels the blush burn on his cheeks._

_"I mean it," Derek says._

_Stiles has no words, though his mouth hanging open as if expecting something of a miracle to come out._

_Derek changes his grip on Stiles' shirt, pulling him down onto the bed. Stiles reaches up to trace his fingers over Derek's chest, skin pulled tight over hard muscle. Derek caresses Stiles in a similar manner. How did he get shirtless anyway?_

_Stiles looks down to the dark patch of hair at the apex of Derek's legs. Derek smiles and shakes his head._

_"No, no. You first." Stiles takes Derek in his hand, the soft flesh feeling much different than his own and begins to gently rub._

_Derek shifts until he slips from his fingers, and takes Stiles' nakedness in his hot mouth._

_"Me first?"_

_Derek nods, his tongue deft on Stiles' dick. A shiver of heat blasts through him with each flick and lick. It is like nothing he's ever felt. Derek's hands cup his ass, though a finger begins to stray toward his hole._

_"You're dirty," Stiles says._

_"Yes, I am. So are you."_

A rattling noise woke Stiles from his dream, and he was suddenly aware of the hospital waiting room around him. Melissa looked at him strangely. Had he said anything aloud? Any names? Oh god, he hoped not. Sitting up, the "Get Well" balloon he bought this morning bounced into his face. Annoyed, Stiles knocked the balloon away.

"Can I put this in her room yet?" Stiles asked Ms. McCall.

"Yeah, she's been up for a bit." She looked at Stiles again. "She asked for a shower first thing."

Lydia's dad muttered something and marched off. Probably to the vending machines to get a cup of coffee. Stiles sneaked into the room and tied the balloon to Lydia's headboard.

He sat back in his chair, scrubbing his hands on his face to try to wake up a bit. Had he really dreamed of Derek? Certainly a strange dream and if he was honest … hot. Derek naked, Stiles naked. What was wrong with that? No, he was still pissed at Derek for not trusting him about the whole warehouse thing. Stupid werewolves and the stupid trust and anger issues.

He was feeling a bit hungry, and had ran out of money after lunch this afternoon. He dug into his pockets, and felt two quarters. Enough for a candy from the vending machine. Still groggy, he make the short trek down the hall, passing Mr. Martin—why was the man looking at Stiles like he was the crazy one? Whatever.

He stood in front of the machine, eyes roving over the scant selection. Not that he needed much time to decide on anything. Reese's stood out, all the time. Pressing both coins into the machine, he pressed "I" for the yummy chocolate peanut butter treat. And it got stuck.

He hit the machine. Fuck. Really? Why did it have to be him? Stiles briefly though about using magic. It screamed at him, refusing to budge.

"Seriously? Come …." No sense in arguing. So Stiles found himself pressed against the machine, trying to lift it. For his reward, the machine tottered and he felt it about to fall on him, so he quickly jumped out of the way as it crashed—glass breaking of course. Stiles looked around him, noticing no one. Damn. He was still hungry.

Hearing a distant scream that sounded a lot like Lydia, Stiles bolted towards his friend's room. Both Mr. Martin and Melissa were there before him, rushing the bathroom at once. Stiles pushed past the two adults and into the steamy room. The bath was full and the room was empty—no Lydia in sight. Stiles noticed the open window and the wet marks on the sill. He looked outside, the water hard to see in the dark. Ms. McCall turned off the water, then went out of the room.

Melissa called the sheriff, speaking in low tones. Mr. Martin paced his daughter's hospital room. Stiles couldn't work magic right now, not with them looking—and of course, the magic was screaming at him. Seriously! He supposed he'd have to solve this the normal way. Well, maybe only partly normal.

Stiles left them to step outside the hospital. He was about to call Derek, but Scott's happy face was already calling him.

"Yo, Scott."

"What's wrong with Lydia?" Scott sounded a bit breathless.

"She's disappeared." Stile ducked around the corner, hoping he was forgotten in the momentary confusion. "Jumped out the window and ran out into the woods. Nude."

"Dude!"

"Get your little wolfy ass here," Stiles whispered. "We need to find her."

"No shit, Stiles. I'll be there in about ten minutes. Grab something that smells like her."

"Right. Good thinking. Ten minutes? You live like 16 minutes from here, running top speed." Stiles smacked himself. Of course. "Oh. I guess the ban hasn't stopped you has it."

"Nope. Nothing can come between our love."

"Alright. I've got a mission. I'll see you soon. Leaving the Jeep open. Bye." Stiles hung up the phone, shoving it in his pocket.

Stiles looked around the lobby, walking back to Lydia's room. Looking around and finding the place empty for the moment, he slipped into the room, and grabbed the hospital gown she'd been wearing for the better part of a week.

Sirens wailed in the parking lot—his dad was here. Stuffing the fabric into his jacket pocket, Stiles snuck out the room, and sat down. Waiting. Melissa ran up to his dad, and answered all the questions. The sheriff was damn good at his job, knew all the forms in and out. Stiles felt proud at how good his dad

"Any other descriptors?" The sheriff asked.

Stiles butted in, listing the litany he'd memorized years ago. No matter what, he'd probably have them memorized.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" his dad asked.

Stiles sputtered. "Providing moral support?"

"Provide your ass back home, where you should be."

Stiles nodded, letting himself be shoved forward and out the door. Where Scott was waiting in the Jeep. Stiles jumped in, handing over the hospital gown for Scott to sniff to his heart's content. Seriously.

Stiles started the engine and was about to back up when he saw Allison standing there.

"She's my friend too," Allison said.

"Yeah," Scott said. "I can find her." He held up the blood-stained fabric.

"Before my dad does?"

"Before the even the police." Scott looked confident.

"Is it like a search party?" Stiles asked, though he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer.

"More like a hunting party." Allison shuddered.

Stiles recoiled. So the hunters thought Lydia was a werewolf? But he knew she couldn't be, the bite hadn't taken; she hadn't healed at all. Would the hunters take that as evidence? Though he was no longer in love with Lydia, he still didn't want her to die.

Allison climbed into the tight space in the back seat. Scott took another long inhale. Allison gave him a strange look—jealousy? Stiles tried not to think of the fact that they had probably been boning not twenty minutes ago.

"Just let me know where to go, alright Scott?" he said.

"Yeah, let's go before they find her." Scott took another whiff and pointed down the road. "She went off toward the woods."

"Which means a bumpy ride," Stiles said, glancing at Allison.

She rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine."

Stiles peeled out of the parking lot, following Scott's directions. After a series of weird, convoluted turns (seriously, can't Siri and werewolf noses be integrated or something?), Stiles found himself on very familiar off-beaten roads to the old Hale house. Derek said he had moved, so why would Lydia even come here? If she had been turned …. Did women change differently? Peter had made a joke, but was it true? It was frustrating how little he knew.

Stiles parked a ways back from the house. Never knew when hunters or random people might show up—especially if those hunters were actively looking for a teen girl. An escape route with little visibility of "being here" would be good—for him and Allison.

They piled out of the Jeep, Scott leading them toward where Stiles knew the house to be. Scott occasionally scented the air.

"This is where the scent leads," Scott said, grabbing hold of Allison's hand.

"Has she been here before?" Stiles looked to his friends. Only Jackson knew about the location of the house. Had he somehow told Lydia?

"Not with me," Allison said. Scott remained quiet about the subject, but Stiles knew enough about his best friend that Lydia was far from his mind (unless counting full moons while ruining Stiles' life by kissing the then love of his life).

Stiles thought about the tingling under his skin for a moment, frustrated. It would be so much easier just to use magic, but for some reason, he hadn't been able to track Lydia and now that Scott was present … he couldn't risk exposure. Yet. Perhaps he could try to find her later. Maybe that's when he would be able to look for her.

Allison and Scott were whispering in hushed tones, so Stiles went to investigate the surroundings. He couldn't see much with normal eyes, but he'd come back later and take a look without Scott or Allison. Magic had it's perks, when it worked.

"Whoa hey! Look at this. I think it's a trip wire." Stiles gently tugged the mechanism.

"Stiles!" Scott sounded odd

"Yeah buddy?" Stiles ran his fingers across the steel cable. He stood a turned around.

"Next time you see a trip wire, don't trip it."

Allison giggled into her hand. Seeing Scott trussed up was pretty funny—Stiles had to admit it.

Stiles shook his head. "Noted."

"Wait!" Scott waved his hands at them. "Hunters, three of them, coming. I hear them. Hide!"

Stiles grabbed Allison and ran off to a low dip in the ground behind a tree out of sight. If they were hunters, Chris Argent would be with them—no doubt.

Sure enough, the seasoned hunter approached with two men. "Scott. How are you doing?"

"Good, just hanging out, you know. This yours? It's good. Nice design."

Stiles shook his head. Really Scott? This is how you treat the girlfriend's father? Better to not rock the boat, but seriously? Mr. Argent lowered his voice and Stiles lost track of the conversation. What were they talking about? Allison looked like she was trying hard to listen.

"One special circumstance. One I can handle, Scott. Not two."

So, this confirmed the hunters thought Lydia was a werewolf. And apparently Scott did as well, with the way he was reacting. Some forgot that Stiles could read other people, especially Scott. Though when they had seen Lydia after a couple days, Scott had seen the bite hadn't healed. Had he changed his mind? Immunity—though Derek had said the bite turns or kills—could be possible. Stiles remembered this through a memory his mother had left him. Could no one else fathom this?

After Argent left, Allison rushed to Scott's side. "Stiles, help me with this."

So, dutiful friend that he was, Stiles followed Allison to the mechanism and before he could so much as work out the logistics, the cord slackened and two feet thumped on the ground.

"Thanks but I think I got it. Coming?" Scott said.

Stiles shook his head, then followed his friend to the house. No matter how often he saw it, the house just creeped him out. How many people died in the fire? A ridiculous amount—and now that he was pretty sure ghosts were real, he wanted no part in the creepy affairs of the burned husk of a building.

"It's empty," Scott said. "I can't hear any heartbeats. She was here though."

"Are you sure?" Allison still stood on the threshold. It was about, what, a week ago? Yes, that Kate was killed, right here.

Stiles put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, it's okay."

"Yeah, I'm sure. She came in the house." Scott took off up the stairs.

"You don't have to go inside," Stiles said. "I'll stay here with you."

"No." Allison took a shuddering breath. "I can do it."

Stiles stepped back and let Allison in, then turned and followed Scott upstairs. Memories of the place burbled up in the mind, visions of the past house that used to be here. His mom had been here at some point. Stiles vaguely remembered her having some business with the Hales, but at the time, he didn't know it was magical—he wondered if Derek had known about it. One of the reasons he'd recognized Derek a few short months ago.

Now they whole area was his to protect and deal with. And no one knew about his charge.

"Scott?" Allison's voice sounded small in the space. "You find anything?"

"Not yet." He poked his head out of one of the second story rooms. "She came up here, but then I guess went back down."

Stiles shrugged and followed Scott, along with Allison down to the back of the house to a room adjacent to where Kate was killed. Stiles watched Allison pointedly not look that direction. Several large mirrors were in the room, some looked less dusty than others.

"She moved some of these around." Scott sounded confused.

Stiles had no idea why she would want to move them around either.

"Don't look at me," Allison said. "She likes her reflection, but not enough to move mirrors around a room like this."

Scott nodded, in agreement, sniffing around.

"Getting anything?" Stiles asked.

"Her scent is everywhere in this room," he said. "Though I can't pick it up where she left the house."

"Scott, do you think she's okay?" Allison said. "I'm worried about her."

"I think she's fine." Scott rubbed the back of his head. "She should be."

Stiles' phone buzzed repeatedly. He fumbled for a moment before answering. "Yo, Dad. What's up?"

"Just wrapping up some paperwork from the hospital. Did you eat anything for dinner in the rush?"

"Um, no. I kinda forgot." Stiles picked at his hoodie.

"Well, good news. I'll pick us up some drive through. Sammy's?"

"You've been working pretty hard, but pick something healthy-ish."

"Healthy-ish?" his dad said. "Please don't mention salad."

"Fine, no salad."

Scott and Allison had frozen in place staring at Stiles having this perfectly normal conversation. In a burned out shell of a house while they were looking for Lydia. Right.

"But no fries," Stiles added. "Stress plus fries equals no bueno."

"Yeah, yeah. So you keep telling me. I'll get what you usually get. That okay?"

"Works for me. When should you be home. To deliver said delicious food."

"Oh, Stiles. I don't know. Probably another good fifteen or twenty minutes."

"Perfect! I'll see you home then."

"Alright. Turn the light on for me."

"You got it daddy-o."

Stiles hung up the phone and shoved it in his pocket, heading straight for the front door.

"Stiles, no!" Scott said grabbing his arm. "We haven't found Lydia yet!"

"In case your werewolf hearing was impaired, my dad will be home. Soon. With food. For me. If I'm not there, this means bad. I need to get home. I can drop off Allison to her car? Okay, to her car, and you can go run around and sniff. Or something."

"Let's go." Allison tugged on Stiles' shirt and gave a meaningful look to Scott. "You're the best bet to find her anyway, Scott."

Scott nodded, letting Stiles go. "I've got my phone. I should be good."

"Right," Stiles said. "Come on."

Stiles jogged to the Jeep just down the road. Allison kept up without complaint. Soon, the blue vehicle came into view, so Stiles slowed to a fast walk and pulled out his keys.

In moments, they were on the road. "So happy I make my dad eat healthy," Stiles said.

"What? Why?" Allison asked, confused.

"I make him feel guilty when he orders fast food, so he always calls before getting it. Blessing right now."

"Oh, right. Is he okay?"

"He will be," Stiles said, gripping the wheel tighter. "I'm making sure of that."

"Didn't mean to pry too much," Allison looked out the window. "It must be hard. You know, him not knowing about the whole thing."

"I know. I want to tell him, but …. I also don't want to."

Allison looked at him and gave him a smile. No wonder Scott thought she was perfect, Stiles felt a little of the weight of his dad's health drain away, a little bit of the lying seemed okay. It was nice. He hadn't had a chance to even talk to Derek about it. Which immediately conjured up the dream he'd had in the hospital. Oh god.

"So, parked at the hospital?"

Allison nodded. "Yeah, just drop me off at the light. I'll make it just fine. I should be home before my dad even knows I'm gone."

Stiles hummed. "I would totally be chivalrous and drop you off at your car, but …."

"I know, Stiles. You would, but don't get into any more trouble."

"Right."

They sat in silence the rest of the short drive to the hospital. All the police vehicles were gone—which meant his dad would be at the station finishing up the paperwork. And since Sammy's was not quite on the way home, his dad would take a little bit longer.

Allison jumped out of the car and darted across the street with little more than a wave and a promise to text. Stiles gunned it, going faster than the speed limit. Every officer in Beacon Hills knew his Jeep, and in general, didn't pull him over unless he was going too crazy fast. Though his dad had warned him not to rely on their generosity (as he'd never told them to look the other, probably the opposite in fact).

Stiles pulled up to the house, his dad's cruiser not in the driveway. He jumped out, grabbed all his stuff and ran upstairs, throwing his homework on his desk and his backpack on the floor, then ran back downstairs to turn a few lights on. His heart thumped in his chest from the adrenaline. When his dad didn't show up for a few minutes, Stiles went upstairs to his bedroom and flopped on his bed. Allison had let him know she'd made it home. Scott hadn't texted him. He sent them both a message that he had made it home and hesitated over the conversation with Derek. He hadn't really said anything to him since they'd had lunch on Saturday. And the really awkward/hot kiss that left him feeling weak in the knees. Nothing new from Derek.

-sorry, derek. I know you're not ready to share. just wish you would with me. S.

Perhaps not the best apology, but it would do for now—even if he half-meant it. Derek didn't text back right away so he was probably running around in the woods or something wolf-like. Stiles left his phone out laying next to him. He heard his dad pull up and resisted jumping up immediately to run and eat. He realized he was hungrier than he thought.

"Stiles?" his dad called out, shutting the door behind him. "Food is here."

He got up and took the stairs two at a time down to the kitchen. "Hey dad. Let me inspect before you eat. What did you order?"

The sheriff rolled his eyes. "Chicken sandwich, no mayonnaise on a whole wheat bun. Happy?"

"I know you sneaked a few fries," Stiles said, digging around the bag. "Where is your parfait?"

"That yogurt crap? Stiles, do you hate me?"

"If you mean love you so much that I constantly worry about your cholesterol levels and heart health? Then yes."

His dad sighed. "No stupid yogurt."

Stiles threw up his hands in defeat, then snatched his dinner. It smelled so good. He took the offered plate from his dad and unwrapped his delicious hamburger and took a bite. Heaven.

"Stiles, that's not a face I want to see. You're making me want to ask the age of this food."

"But I'm hungry and it's so good."

He stuffed a few fries into his mouth and grabbed around for a soda. None present, he got up and took one out of the fridge. "You got more than the sandwich right?" he said after swallowing.

His dad looked guilty.

"Dad! Fries?"

"You caught me red-handed." He shrugged, taking a bite.

"I learned from the best, you know. Doesn't mean your off the hook yet."

His dad smiled at that, then rummaged around the bag for a loose fry before Stiles could stop him. It would probably be parent abuse to slap his hand away. He thought about it anyway.

They sat in relative silence until they'd both finished and Stiles threw the bag and the trash away. His dad looked pretty tired.

"Any luck on finding Lydia?"

"Nothing." His dad sighed. "We couldn't find her tracks and the K-9s had nothing much to smell. I just hope we can find her tonight. I would be out on the search, son, but I've already be working a lot, so I'm going to rest tonight."

"It's okay. She'll be found."

"Glad you have such faith in us, Stiles."

Stiles stood up, "Well, nice chat we had there. I'm going to go make sure I have no more homework to do, and … goodnight, Dad!"

"Good night Stiles." His dad shook his head and followed at a much slower pace up the stairs.

Stiles picked up his phone. Two missed texts.

-no sign. can't find her. :( heading home. Sc.

-thanks. I will when I can. I'm just not ready yet. D

Stiles sat at his desk, looking at the books before him. He had already done all his homework—waiting in a hospital was extremely boring. He'd finished all his work and then got ahead. With nothing else to distract him, he'd finished most of next week's assignments.

So he stared at his phone a bit. He listened for his dad's shuffling to quiet down and then waited for the snoring to start before he concentrated on taking himself to the Hale house. In a puff of mist, he stood several yards from the front door. Moonlight illuminated the forest clearing, turning charred wood silver. Scott hadn't been able to find Lydia from here, but maybe he could.

He wiped his eyes, pushing a little magic (which surprisingly agreed with him, for once—it made no sense at all) and opened his senses. He could see the tracks of everyone and picked out Lydia's—conveniently pink for easy following. Her tracks lead into the house, but he couldn't see where she'd come back out. Was she in there the whole time?

Faintly, he saw tracks in the distance, and followed those. It's like Lydia had jumped from the second floor and (uninjured) went off into the woods. Again. But if she was human, as he thought, would she have been able to make that jump? Lydia was a bit of mystery, he realized. She'd been smarter than she let everyone believe, and Allison had made a remark about her being a perfect bowler. So it would be no surprise if she knew gymnastics as well.

Stiles followed the tracks through the forest, wondering where in the hell Lydia would be. To save himself time and maybe catch up with her, he misted (teleported? what did the Higher Beings call it?) over the tracks until he came up to a thicket where the tracks stopped cold.

Lydia was probably in there. Maybe as a werewolf. Stiles pushed aside the heavy bushes and stepped into the protected area. Lydia lay there, absolutely naked and shivering. Her eyes were open, but she didn't see anything.

"Lydia?" His voice was hushed. She didn't respond.

He was about to reach out for her and mist her home, but his magic refused to work. So he racked his brain. He couldn't very well leave her, and he only brought his own clothes. If she was found with clothes, then … not a good scenario. So, he settled on trying more magic.

"You don't look like a werewolf, so … this should be okay." Stiles pushed out the magic from his body and wrapped it around Lydia as a blanket to keep her warm until she came into contact with others. Stiles stepped back. She wasn't shivering anymore, and she looked more comfortable.

"Sorry I couldn't help much, Lydia. Apparently fate wants you to hang out here tonight, though I don't know why. I try not to break the rules too much."

He watched as the black mists carried him home, evaporating in his room. His dad was still snoring. Stiles looked at his phone wondering if he should finally text Derek back. He stared at the last message for a good few minutes before firing off a text.

-okay. i'll be here when you are. goodnight. S.

-goodnight, stiles. D.

He stripped down to his underwear, tossing his clothes on the floor and crawled into his nice, warm bed. Switching the bed-stand light off, Stiles watched the moon for a moment, knowing that tomorrow, things would be a little bit better.

* * *

Notes: Sorry it took me forever to get another chapter out! I feel horrible! But hopefully this works well enough. I went on vacation (where under deadline, I wrote for Teen Wolf Spring Fling). I am doing a beta read, and also I had to prepare for a couple workshops I am teaching. So. I will get another chapter out next week.

As always, you can find me on tumblr, username hbrooks01.


	18. New Pack

Derek sighed, leaning against old wooden supports for the house he lived in as a child. Scott looked chastised, sitting on the steps leading up to the porch. Finally. Perhaps he would see hunters as something other than sexy young women. The hunters had cleared out soon after the body was "properly" destroyed.

"We should have done something. You know?" Scott didn't even sound like he was going to believe it, but his heart didn't lie.

"Scott," Derek said. "You can't save everyone all the time. Pick your battles. Would you have traded Allison's life for some omega you never knew?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." Scott scrubbed his hair, looking worn out. "I thought he'd be Lydia; I though she was doing these things. But it wasn't her."

"I chased him off the other night, Scott. From the graveyard. He took that woman's liver."

"I heard him, Derek."

Derek shrugged. "Do you understand why they are here?"

"Reinforcements."

"Which means?"

"I know what it means," Scott said. "I know. I just … I don't know. I thought it might be easy with Peter gone. With no more random 'animal' attacks."

"War, Scott. Say it. Gerard being here means war. Against you. Against me. Chris Argent may be nice enough to not kill you on sight, or whatever he is being, but Gerard won't hesitate to kill. You saw that tonight."

Scott hung his head backward, staring into what, Derek didn't know. Sometimes ….

"We should probably not hang around here any more tonight. Scott, watch your back. Though you may not believe anything I've ever said, the hunters are not your friends. Whether or not you believe it, I'm probably the only friend you have right now."

"I'm not joining any pack." Scott brushed himself off. "I've got to go."

Derek watched Scott run off. Well, good. Perhaps he'd be more careful now. Derek had noticed a change in him. Something significant. Watching a man die, that changed you. Watching your girlfriend's grandfather do that … more than changed you. Derek shook the tension from his muscles and ran off toward the warehouse.

Last night had changed a few things. For one, the gravedigger, Isaac if he remember correctly, seemed like a good prospect. Derek had protected him while searching for the strange omega he'd found in his territory. The young man had smelled promising—and of course lifting heavy machinery certainly piqued most headstrong guys.

He half-expected the guy to be waiting for him on his return to the warehouse, but there was no one present. Derek checked his phone.

-found lydia. shes okay. S.

The text was sent to a ton of random numbers Derek didn't know. Probably wanting that A in economics—not that he exactly _stalked_ Stiles per se. He'd been worried about his mate, worried about what might happen with a rogue omega that just so happened to stop by the school. That Derek lingered longer than necessary … well, that was another story.

Derek didn't bother to send anything to Stiles. After the strained conversations yesterday, Derek figured he would let Stiles cool down more, and maybe open up with something tomorrow. Better to stay away sometimes then rile the other person up—something his grandma had said once.

He heard the foot steps long before the door opened to the warehouse. Derek smiled. Well Scott, he thought, turns out I don't need you to be in my pack after all. I've got a willing recruit. Derek stood in the train, watching as the young man descended the stairs.

"Derek? It was Derek right?" His heart rate was intense and erratic. "You said you'd explain things, things that happened yesterday. You said you could help me."

"I did." Derek leaned against the train, pleased. Finally. Without a pack, his was not as strong—after a certain amount of time, he'd lose his alpha status and become omega, something he never wanted to happen. And with whatever was happening to Jackson ….

"Please. What was that thing out there? How could you lift the digger?" The boy held a flashlight in one hand. Derek didn't really need much light to see by.

"Isaac, correct?"

The boy nodded. He looked more frightened than he should. Fear was a great motivator.

"Well, Isaac, that was a werewolf you saw last night—don't worry he's dead now. As to how I could lift the digger _and _scare away that werewolf? I'm a stronger werewolf. I'm an alpha."

Derek let his fangs extend at the red bleed into his eyes. Isaac trembled but didn't run. Smart.

"Dead?"

"Hunters killed him. I wouldn't have."

"Hunters?"

"You want help, don't you?"

Issac nodded.

"Well, then you'll want to be a werewolf. And before I turn you, you must agree to be part of my pack. We are stronger in packs. We can survive the hunters that will come after us—no if's about it."

"What do I have to do?" Isaac swallowed. Derek thought he was attractive, but with Stiles as his mate, there was no reason to even bother with too deep of feelings. Pack would be enough.

"Do you accept my terms?"

"Yes."

Derek heard the truth in those words, and nodded. "Then come closer. To be a werewolf, an alpha has to give you the bite. I can do that. Are you ready?"

Isaac nodded—probably too scared to actually say anything. Derek closed the distance, more gentle than he had been with Jackson, and tugged the shirt up to expose pale flesh.

"We bite this region as it is much easier to hide than on an arm. Or neck." He smiled.

Isaac had his eyes shut against the pain, he assumed. Derek let his fangs fully extend and bit down hard on the bare skin exposed to him, letting his power as alpha enter and transform Isaac into a werewolf. Derek relaxed, shifting back to fully human. Isaac would take the bite well, and be a loyal wolf. He could feel the absence of pack vanish, tension he didn't know fading away every moment. He would remain alpha and be able to take control of his family's lost territory once again.

"That's it?" Isaac said, letting his fingers run over the wound.

"That's it. When you wake up tomorrow you'll be healed." It was doubtful the boy would die, but if he did die, he wouldn't wake up tomorrow. "No mark at all."

"Thank you Derek. You have saved my life."

"And you will save mine in time, I am sure. Now go, you have family don't you?"

"My dad."

Derek nodded, trying to remember his father's face and failing. "He'll be expecting you, no doubt."

Isaac nodded again then took the stairs out of the warehouse. Derek exhaled slowly. He had pack now. He had a mate (though his mate was stubborn beyond believe). Now if he could just get rid of the hunters that had overrun the town his life would be perfect.

But that probably would not be the case, knowing how terrible his luck was. Not with the war that had just been declared on all supernatural creatures. Gerard Argent …. Derek knew from experience the old man was a lot stronger than he looked, and a lot crueler than he appeared. Nothing like a family reunion—though now that Kate was out of the picture, Derek could handle the old man. And if rumors had been true when he was growing up, an Alpha Pack would be arriving in town to check up on him (or possibly the now-dead Peter, or both) so he needed to expand his pack. No Scott, no Stiles (yet—though that would change), not even Jackson.

He sighed and rearranged his bedding for stripping down and climbing in. He was tired after watching someone else die, after trying to convince Scott, which, of course, didn't work like it would have for any sane person.

Derek crawled into the makeshift bed. His phone buzzed. Well, if Stiles texted him, he would text back.

-hey. S.

-hey, stiles. D.

-you asleep? S.

-if I was asleep, I wouldn't be texting you. D.

-right. is it okay to miss us texting? sorry again. i was a total jerk the other day. S.

Derek wiped his brow. It was warm in the warehouse again. He didn't know what to say in response and was sorely tempted to say nothing after the first few drafts.

-it is fine. you are allowed to be a jerk sometimes. just like I am allowed. D.

-you are surprisingly nice, derek. wanted you to know that. i don't want to leave where we left off. can we meet again soon?

-like another date? D.

-wait, what? uh fuck it. yeah another date. :) please? S.

-since you asked so nicely, yes. we can. after the full moon, okay? D.

-probably a good idea. always a stupid crazy night. S.

-yeah. D.

-okay. well how about we discuss after the big event? maybe meet next weekend? S.

-yeah. I'll text you if you don't text me first. D.

-kk. S.

Derek set his phone aside and fell asleep, imagining Stiles curled next to him. Soon, he thought as he fell asleep. Soon he'd be here for real.

* * *

Again, sorry it took forever to get another chapter out! :( I feel bad. But! I've got a good reason. I taught such a successful workshop that I have a nonfiction book deal to write. As I settle down into the new routine of things, I'll probably pick up writing more.

As always, you can find me on tumblr at hbrooks01


	19. Hunter at the Station

Oh shit, Stiles thought. Oh shit, oh shit. There was an unconscious body on the floor, and his somewhat boyfriend boosted his new puppy out of jail and of course Stiles was left to deal with the mess. That had been the agreement. And his dad had just walked in.

The whole plan had gone well, really. Considering. Derek had flirted—actually _flirted—_and by god, Stiles was going to get some of that flirting action and soon. Who cared if he laid it on thick. It was totally awkward to hear him. Then there had been the dragging. And, of course, as Stiles was about to die—because no magic, thank you werewolves—Isaac busted free from the freaking steel cage and bashed the evil hunter down. And saved Stiles. And then wanted to _eat_ Stiles as his first full-moon midnight snack. And then he got saved by Derek going all growly and alpha-y. All this being saved was driving him nuts. He need to be the saver.

Then he was left when Derek took Isaac out of station shaking like a newborn kitten; it was his official duty to explain things to his dad. The sheriff. At the sheriff's station. And there was a unconscious body.

"Uh, he did it." Stiles hoped the explanation would be good enough for this dad, though by the look of incredulity on the sheriff's face said otherwise.

"Stiles, would you like to explain to me why you are here and not at home where I left you?" He motioned for his two deputies to examine the room and the body. He spoke briefly asking the man be placed in an empty cell, until he woke up. No officer had recognized the man. He pulled Stiles out of the holding area and back to his office. Upon seeing the open box, he added, "And why my lock box is empty?"

"Well, I came to see Isaac, you know he's on the lacrosse team, to see, you know, how he was doing and everything, so I came by and when you know, this random guy that I know doesn't work here, because, let's face it, I know pretty much everyone who works here, well, I see him unlocking the cell where Isaac—aforementioned lacrosse teammate—is, and Isaac runs out—I tried to stop him, but you know he barreled right past me like he does in practice—and the guy, you know the one that doesn't work here, well he totally came at me, and we struggled but I managed to hit his head against the wall and he was knocked out good."

"You rambled." His dad looked unimpressed.

"Dad! I always ramble."

"You sure you don't need those ADHD meds we took you off?"

"I'm an excitable person. Especially when under duress from crazy people letting minors of out jail cells."

"Well, we have him in custody now, so hopefully he'll offer some answers. Like why he would let that boy out."

Stiles shrugged. "I couldn't tell you why. Maybe he's some whacky vigilante type." A portion of the truth was always important to say.

"Stiles. Go home. I'm tired of seeing you at all these crime scenes. I know, I know," he held his hands up. "You've always been at them, it just seems like it's an alarming amount now that you're older. And for god's sake, Stiles, stay there until I get home. I mean it."

"Alright, alright. Heading home el pronto." Stiles turned to leave.

"And Stiles, stay out of trouble."

"Righty-o, Dad." Stiles gave him a wave then turned around and nearly bolted from the station. The drive home was short, but he didn't plan on breaking his promise to his dad—tonight at least. No need for that. Isaac would be in good hands, and Scott—well, he was going to be with Allison so there was that. Full moon plus Allison, well he went after her all the time anyway. She'd be safe enough.

Now what about the strange creature that killed Isaac's father. That was something Stiles would have to figure out. Magic or no magic. He'd need to know how to take it down—whatever it was.

He grabbed the stuff from his back seat and went up to his room, turning on lights as he went. No Aelfrick waiting for him. Seemed like a first. Stiles took out his phone and texted Derek.

-made it home. dad sort of believed me. came up with a good excuse. hunter will be questioned. he'll probably pick up on the same story. S.

-good. also sorry about flirting with her. D.

-s'ok. totally get it. isaac okay? S.

-he's fine. shook up. maybe he believes me now. D.

-? anyway, gonna sleep. tty tomorrow? S.

-yeah. goodnight. D.

-night! S.

Stiles flopped on his bed. After spending an hour in the same proximity as Derek, the itching/thrumming under his skin intensified, and so he needed an outlet for the magic. He closed his eyes, thinking of the hunter in the station, sending out his mind. Feeling a jolt and a connection—by the way, _awesome—_he planted the story he'd told his father into the hunter's memory like he'd done with Peter, and inserted the motive of being an anti-establishment kinda guy. So hearing or picking up the news, he immediately wanted to rescue the kid. Perfect. Hunter taken care of, werewolves protected.

Opening his eyes, he still felt the low hum of energy and wondered what else he could do. He had tried to track the mysterious, but that had somehow backfired. He couldn't place why. There was something there, some memory that refused to budge, and it frustrated him. So he sighed, got up, and decided to work on homework for the next hour or so.

Closing his textbooks and laptop, Stiles checked the time. Eleven o'clock. Ugh. School tomorrow. He was going to be so tired. He shucked his clothes and dove onto his bed, making sure to snuggle under the covers before completely passing out. He woke some hour or two later and turned off the lights, and feel immediately back to sleep.

* * *

Notes: This one and the one before were nastily snagged and I *just* got through them. I'm hoping the next on will be smoother. At some point, I'll be going through the whole piece, but probably not until I'm done. I'm basically going to end this around/near the end of S2.

You can find me/yell at me on tumbr at hbrooks01 ^_^


	20. Twenty Miles Run

Derek was shuffling through some paperwork the sheriff's office had sent his post office box. All of it was signed and notarized, he just had to keep it in a somewhat safe place. He checked over the legalese, his eyes glazing. He'd have to finish reading it another time. Hopefully never.

It was the midmorning and Derek had yet to text Stiles. He wasn't sure when there would be another date, but probably on the weekend, when Stiles had more time. Derek wanted everything to be "official," but wasn't certain where Stiles stood on the matter. He'd left Isaac at the warehouse while he went to check his mail—an old, burned down house didn't make a good address, and neither did a warehouse belonging to someone else. He took the papers to a safe box at a bank in a different town, before returning to Beacon Hills.

Derek took the stairs down the warehouse two at a time. Isaac was digging around his backpack, but otherwise looked unhurt. No way the kid could show his face around town any time soon. Well, at least Derek was no longer a fugitive.

"Hey Derek," the kid said.

"Isaac."

"So I was thinking, you said that we are stronger in packs, right? Well, I'm not the only one who wanted to be stronger."

Derek folded his arms over his chest, and looked down at Isaac. The boy was calculating and showed some initiative. At the moment, he could trust Isaac. "Tell me."

"Well, there is this girl, Erica. She's got epilepsy. I've seen her around school and she looks miserable; people make fun of her all the time, and I know that her home life isn't the best with her mom gone a lot. But she's strong willed."

Derek nodded. He'd have to seek out this girl. "Sniff her out for me, bring me something of hers. If she's epileptic …. Any other promising candidates?"

"This guy, goes by Boyd. He always sits alone during lunch, takes the bus from what I understand too. He's a big guy, strong, but I think there is something about him as well. I was watching them both during school the other day."

"Good job, Isaac. I don't want to be turning just any mislead sad youth. We need a strong pack, and this will give us the start."

Isaac nodded.

"Stay out of sight," Derek said. "At least until we find out who killed your father. The law and us don't get along."

Isaac pulled out a book and started scribbling away for some homework he'd probably not be able to turn in for a while. At least he was diligent enough to not waste his time by doing nothing. Derek shrugged out of his jacket and hung it up on a peg nailed into the wall.

"When the pack grows, we'll be training as much as possible. You and I will start tonight. Go ahead and finish that up."

Derek pulled out his cell phone. Stiles was probably still in class.

-hey. it's tomorrow. D.

-ha ha ha. it is. have you decided when we are going out? S.

-if your free saturday? D.

-i have to do some sort of 'bonding' with my dad. sun? S.

"Who are you texting?" Isaac asked.

Derek looked up from his phone. The boy looked so earnest, so eager for positive attention, Derek didn't have the heart to tell him to fuck off.

"Stiles."

Isaac gave him a weird look and smelled vaguely confused. Like why would Derek even text someone in his class. Derek shrugged.

"Tell him thanks for the notes."

Derek looked down at the messaging thread. "Okay."

-Isaac says thanks for the notes. also sun works fine. D.

-awesome! so he's fugitive? S.

-yeah. he'll be cleared. no werewolf did that, and no human either. D.

-agreed. a new something is out there. S.

-yes. so be on alert. I want my date ;) D.

-lolololol okay. gotta run. ttyl byeeeeee. S.

-k. D.

Derek set his phone down. There should be something to eat for lunch in the warehouse. He dug around the fridge and pulled out sliced meat and bread to make a sandwich.

After licking up the crumbs from his shirt, Derek checked on Isaac. The boy was still hunched over doing homework, though he looked fairly peaceful.

"You okay there?" Derek asked.

Isaac looked up. "Yeah. Any lunch left for me?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome. You got plans to be somewhere?"

"I'm going to check a few things again, pick up some groceries. Eat. When I return, we'll start training. And it's good you've done lacrosse, though I'll be tougher than Finstock."

"Okay."

Derek gave the warehouse one last look over, before vaulting up the stairs. He should have run the errands when he was out before, but he wanted to check on Isaac. Make sure the only pack member he had was alive and well.

He jogged to the Camaro and drove around Beacon Hills, sniffing for anything new, though the murderous creature he couldn't so much as scent in the air. Nothing had crossed into the territory that wasn't human and normal. He drove by the high school and singled out Stiles and Scott listening to them for a moment before driving to Max's.

He grabbed a few things, stocking up on several necessities and some meat for dinner. He snagged a good deal on protein powder the vitamin store next door to the market. He pulled into the warehouse district—a different spot than when he'd left—and took everything he'd bought to his new home.

Isaac was reading something and looked up when Derek walked in. Derek shook his head at Isaac's questioning look. He didn't need any help with the groceries.

"Finish up," Derek said. "We'll be starting soon."

Isaac shifted a bit, then closed his book. Perhaps he was ready now, but Derek had a few things to do.

With the food up away, Derek sent a text to Stiles.

-going to be busy for a while, just in case I don't answer. D.

-k. S.

Derek took off his shirt, and grabbed a clean tank—super cheap and good for training. He found Isaac watching him.

"So" the boy said. "What will we be doing?"

"Running, acrobatics, fighting, dodging. Muscle training. Anything and everything that gives us an advantage over hunters. Speed is one thing, but hunters are fast as well. We'll start with a twenty miles run."

"What? As in two-zero?"

Derek nodded. "You're a werewolf. We have stamina, strength and speed. My best twenty was clocked at just under thirty minutes."

Isaac mumbled something. "That's forty miles an hour."

Derek grinned. "Yes. I was pushing it. But we will finish in an hour and a half. Think of this as an extended jog."

Isaac unfolded himself and stood up. "Alright."

"You ready? After today, I won't be easy on you."

"Ready," Isaac said.

Derek quirked his mouth and ran up the stairs. It would be nice to run with pack again after such a long absence. Even with the mystery death, life was beginning to turn around.

* * *

Notes: Another short one. Sorry for the crap transitional chapters. We have date number three next! :D

You can find me/yell at me on tumbr at .com ^_^


	21. Pizza and Oz

On Sunday morning, Stiles awoke and rolled over, covering his eyes out of habit. Sunlight streamed through his window.

"Blergh," he moaned. His whole body was sore from the hike he took with his dad yesterday. Bonding time equalled lots of wandering the forests in a safe, family friendly manner. After all the lacrosse benching, he knew he was out shape, but he felt it today. So sore.

He swung his arm around feeling around on his nightstand for his phone. It took a moment for him to get his hand on the device. He squinted at the screen. Eight am on a Sunday and he was already awake? He groaned again.

Derek had been silent lately, and Stiles put it under the "new puppy Isaac" category. He wasn't jealous at all—though Derek spent a lot of time with Isaac, he always made room for Stiles in his schedule.

-:( sooooo sore and tired. S.

-uop too earyul stieles. D.

-teehee you spelled my name wrong. S.

-grr. D.

-not a morning person derek? you were up early the other day. S.

-… D.

-ha okay. wake up pretty eyes. S.

-do I have to? D.

-yes. we are supposed to have a date today. S.

Stiles stretched slowly, trying to work on the soreness in his muscles. He would have escaped his blanket pile, but it felt so good to just lay there.

-i know. what did you want to do. you never told me. D.

-uh, it's a sekrit mister. ;) S.

-secrets? omg stiles… D.

-did you omg at me? OMG! S.

-*sigh* so when are you going to tell me? D.

-well, I have to pay you back for the mini golf secret, so maybe when we get there. S.

-you have no idea do you. D.

-… S.

-exactly. D.

-sorrrry! im terrible and cant lie :( S.

-better think of something. D.

-grr. i know, i know. something… nothing involving movement. so sore. SO SORE. S.

-uh… do I want to know? D.

-! hiking with my dad. 'bonding time.' come make me breakfast. S.

-uh, isn't your dad home? D.

-… fine. take me to breakfast. im soooooo hungry. oh. and carry me everywhere today. S.

-don't be helpless. D.

At the knock on his door, Stiles looked up. His dad opened the door and peeked in. The sheriff looked well-rested and way too happy to be up so early on the weekend.

"Morning, Stiles. I'm making breakfast today."

"Yes! With bacon. For me. And pancakes. Orange juice. All the breakfast."

"Sore?" His dad laughed. "If I'm making bacon, I'm going to eat some."

"Health. Blah, blah, reasoning, blah, blah, heart."

"Feeling lazy today, son?"

Stiles nodded empathically. "Sore. Carry me to the table."

"You'll get your ass out of bed for breakfast. Can't fool your old man." Then his dad, turned and left. Leaving Stiles in bed. Poor sore Stiles.

-okay. dad is making brkfst. you are off the hook. S.

-oh good. so what did you want to do? D.

-i'm all for lazing around today. movies, video games, w/e involves little movement. S.

-that does sound nice. I haven't given myself a break in a long while. is your dad working today? D.

-creeper. will ask at foodtimes. S.

-get your ass up. go eat. I await with baited breath. D.

-*rolls eyes* okay okay. meanie. S.

Stiles stretched again, and swung his legs out from under his blankets. Though he rarely liked his dad working so much, he hoped he was, astoday it would be a nice thing. No Dad meant that he could hang at home and be super lazy with Derek. And super lazy was his modus operandi today. Well, most days, but especially today.

He grabbed a robe off the hook of his bathroom, put on his worn fuzzy slippers and trudged downstairs, the scent of bacon already permeating the air. Which meant Dad would burn the bacon or forget the pancakes. Or something.

Stiles rubbed his eyes. He was still stiff and sore, but standing felt okay. "Burning the bacon or forgetting something?"

"What?"

"You started the bacon first."

"Yeah," his dad said. "I'll put it in the oven to keep it warm. I've learned a few tricks from Scott's mother over the years. And the pancakes will be stirred. By you. Helps the soreness."

"Lying is evil, Dad."

The sheriff held his hand out. "I only tell the truth. Stilinski honor."

Stiles grumbled.

"It's all ready to be mixed, just pour the milk and whisk away."

They finished making breakfast in relative silence, Stiles feeling less sore as he walked around the kitchen and set the table. Not soon enough, they were eating and Stiles crammed his mouth full of pancake bacon delicious goodness.

"So," he said around real maple tastiness. "You working today?"

His dad looked guilty, while sipping orange juice. "Yeah. Sorry Stiles. That's why we did our father/son bonding time yesterday. I'm heading in at nine and should be home by five or so."

"It's okay. It was nice to spend time with you yesterday."

His dad smiled, and crunched on a bit of bacon. "Yeah, it was good. Been too long since we did that, judging by your sore face."

"You know I'm benched all the time, so I rarely do anything more than a couple laps here and there. This Stiles is out of shape."

"Yeah, better tell Coach to have you work out more."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for breakfast. I'll clean up, you go do your Superdad thing."

The sheriff finished up and set his dishes on the counter. Stiles guzzled his orange juice after polishing off the yummy, very sugary, pancakes and the crispy—gloriously crispy—bacon. His dad jogged down the stairs in a freshly pressed uniform and waved goodbye.

"If anything changes, I'll let you know. Oh, and bring me lunch or I may be forced to have a burger. Wait, don't bring me lunch. I'll have a burger."

"Dad! Salad it is!"

And then his dad was gone out the door. Stiles walked—no limped—up the stairs and grabbed his phone and iPod. If he was on dish duty he needed music to get him through the pure torture.

-did you get up? D.

-you forgot your phone. you forgot me. D.

-*sigh* D.

Stiles laughed. Finally, Derek understood.

-bacon. pancakes. orange juice. S.

-that's all food items. D.

-that is the glorious food that awaited me to eat it. so yes. now on dish duty. S.

-that's what I have isaac for. j/k. D.

-dad is gonna be at the station until 5. come over. movie time. game time. LAZY time. S.

-okay. when? D.

-whenever. haven't showered or anything yet. still in the pjs. will still be in pjs. not dressing up. lazy stiles day. deal. S.

-lol okay. be over in say, 30/40 mins? D.

-mmmm sounds good. also: massage the stiles. he's sore. S.

-… see you soon. D.

-! S.

Stiles set the iPod in the speaker system and blasted out some good dance music and started to scrub the pans and dishes from breakfast. Starting to sweat, he pealed off his robe and tossed it over his chair. Cleaning up rarely took that long, so after the last dish was in the strainer and he'd collected his "entourage," he jumped in the shower. The toasty warm shower. The heat melted away a lot of the soreness, so he felt somewhat normal when he was done. He wrapped his towel around his waist, peeking out into the hallway. No tingling skin, no Derek. Right?

Confident, he trotted across the hall to his bedroom. And found Derek there. Sitting on his bed all broody and handsome with his—probably—favorite leather jacket. Derek looked good. And Stiles was still wearing … a towel. Fuck. He needed to be wearing more or less? He wasn't sure.

"Hey, Derek." Stiles scratched his belly. "I guess it's been forty minutes?"

"Twenty-five. I couldn't wait much longer." Derek pulled at the sleeves of his jacket, then looked up at Stiles.

"Fair enough. So, move it. I've got to get dressed."

When Derek didn't move, Stiles shrugged and dug through his drawers, searching for his favorite Batman bottoms and a plain tee. Finding them, he triumphed for a moment then, without looking at Derek, he pulled them up while still wearing the damp towel. Once on, he tossed the towel to his hamper and put the shirt on.

Turning back to Derek, he said, "So what movie should we watch? You have any favorites?"

"Uh … well, no?"

Stiles laughed. "Don't be embarrassed, Mr. Alpha Man. I won't tell Isaac or Scott."

Derek frowned. "I haven't seen that many recently."

"Well, we can't have any of that." Stiles crossed his arms. "Come on downstairs, creeper."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'm not creepy."

"You didn't even use the front door. But, that's besides the point. I have some good movies. Thor, Iron Man, and yes, more than just comic book movies. I don't know. Have you seen the Hangover?"

"The what?" Derek stood up and followed Stiles out of the bedroom.

"Oh my god. We are watching it. Classic movie. Instant classic. Though it's a comedy and not all dark and broody. Might want to leave the jacket here, my friend."

Derek huffed and shrugged out of the jacket and threw it over Stiles' bed.

"Also," Stiles continued, "you might consider telling me where you are now living. You know, just in case."

"Stiles."

He turned around and took a good look at Derek. He was wearing a gray henley—and looked damn good in it—but looked a little pained.

"Okay, fine!" Stiles laughed it off. "No pressure or anything. So want something to drink? Water? Soda? Whiskey? Oh right, no drunkenness for werewolves."

"That's right," Derek said. "I'm good right now."

Stiles waved to the couch. "Make yourself comfy. I'll set up the movie." Padding over to the tower, he pulled the DVD and put it in the player. It took a few tries to get the video feed up. Derek picked at his nails, smiling when Stiles looked back to him.

"All ready?" Stiles smiled.

Derek nodded.

"Good," Stiles said. He sat down next to Derek. "Do you mind if I rest against you?"

Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles in answer, and rested his legs on the coffee table. Stiles grabbed a pillow and laid his head on it. The movie started up and Stiles snuggled a little closer to Derek.

"How about that massage?" Stiles said.

"How about we watch this movie?" Derek's fingers danced along Stiles' hip.

"Humph."

Stiles paid more attention to the heat rolling off Derek Hale than the movie happening in front of his eyes. With his free (not pinned under him) arm, he took a hold of Derek's hand and pulled it to his chest. This felt so right. Magic thrummed under his skin, in a quiet way. Stiles let it dance in happiness at the close contact.

Derek shifted minutely, and Stiles with him. The chest behind him rumbled and shook—with laughter, Stiles realized. He snuggled closer, more than happy to share this lazy day with Derek.

Stiles didn't know he'd fallen asleep until Derek shook him awake. Though remembered seeing most of the movie.

"Mm?" Stiles said.

"You were sleeping."

"Why didn't you wake me sooner? You know wolf hearing and all that."

"You looked so peaceful." Derek's fingers gently massaged Stiles' back. "I didn't want to wake you."

Stiles felt good. His soreness was all gone and he didn't feel stiff at all, but he was still tired. Derek's hand lightly rubbing his back sent tingles throughout his body. He could lay here all day in Derek's arms and die from starvation—and be happy. No doubt about that.

"What are you thinking?" Derek asked quietly. "You've got that look."

"That I could lay here forever." Stiles answered. "Do you want to watch another movie and then get some lunch or something? Pizza?"

"Another movie? We could, but we need to switch up this situation. My legs are asleep." Derek kneed Stiles up off his lap. "And I have to go to the bathroom."

"I'm getting up!" Stiles scrambled up. "It's down the hall."

Derek gave him a weird look, but took his directions. Stiles bolted to his bathroom, his legs weaker than he expected and he almost fell a few times. But he managed to beat the werewolf back to the couch. He was lounged out waiting for Derek.

The broody man came back, his sleeves rolled up. He looked so good. Stiles heart seemed to stop for a moment. Derek's head swung back and forth and he crouched down—like he was ready to attack something. "What is it?"

"Uh …." Stiles said. "You just look really good."

Derek looked down at the ground, and Stiles could have sworn his cheeks turned red. But when Derek looked up, Stiles noticed nothing different, except the small smile on Derek's face.

"Thanks." Derek hedged around for a moment, then took the same place he had before. "Do you have the Wizard of Oz?"

"Um, yeah? I think so, somewhere." Stiles got up and rummaged around the videos. "If not, I can get it online. Or it might just be on some channel."

Derek shrugged.

"It's your favorite movie, isn't it?" Stiles pulled the title from the shelf and switched it out. This would be interesting. He didn't exactly _hate_ the movie, but he didn't like the flying monkeys. They creeped him out. And Derek would probably hear it—and hear it now too. Oh god, what was Derek thinking about him now? Stiles took a deep breath before sitting down in the corner.

Derek was in the middle of couch. Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

"I haven't seen this since the fire." Derek's voice was soft and vulnerable—something Stiles hadn't heard before. "So …."

"You don't have to ask if you don't want. Hold you?"

Derek looked ashamed.

"No, no. Derek, please. Don't be. Come here." Stiles opened his arms and swung one leg wide. Derek repositioned himself between Stiles' legs and rest his head on Stiles' chest.

Stiles tentatively wrapped his arms around Derek, his hands meeting just below the older man's solid chest. "It'll be okay Derek."

"Stiles," Derek's voice broke. "Thanks."

"You are welcome. Now, hit the play button okay?"

Derek shook—laughter again—and pressed the button. Dorothy appeared on screen.

Derek stiffened under his arms, so Stiles unclasped his hands and took ahold of one of Derek's and with his free hand, rubbed his thumb over Derek's left pectoral in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Derek relaxed under the touch as Dorothy began singing.

Stiles _knew_ that Derek was holding in some painful emotions. He could feel them himself. Was this what it meant to be Concomitant?

"Derek? It's okay."

Relief flooded Stiles as he felt Derek shudder and shake under him. He gripped Derek tight, letting him cry. Dorothy continued singing "Over the Rainbow," and Stiles soothed Derek as best he could, stroking his hair and pulling him tight. When Dorothy stopped, Derek seemed to relax again. Stiles thumbed the tears from Derek's face, stubble rough against his palm.

"Sorry, Stiles. I'm ruining this." Derek pushed to get up, but Stiles held on tighter.

"No, Derek, you're not. You're being human."

Derek stilled, and let his body fall back against Stiles—progress he decided.

"It's …."

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want." Stiles continued to soothe Derek, to gently massage his chest. He leaned down and kissed Derek's hair without thought—his mother had always done that before she'd been killed by whatever supernatural crazy thing that was out there.

"I'll tell you." Derek covered Stiles' free hand. "After this, okay?"

"Okay." Stiles let his chin rest on Derek's shoulder. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in Derek's shampoo. Here was the big, bad werewolf, totally vulnerable at a movie. Stiles wanted to shield Derek forever from the bad feelings and the crappy things that Kate had done to him, that hunters had done to him.

When the flying monkeys showed up, Stiles tensed for a moment, until Derek started laughing at him. Between wheezes, he managed to pick up something along the lines of "can't believe you can face an alpha but cringe at the monkeys." Stiles swatted Derek, then pulled him closer and snuggled to make up for it.

After Dorothy went home and explained her experiences to Auntie Em, Stiles scooted back on the couch and, surprisingly, pulled Derek with him. Hell yeah! When the credits began scrolling, Derek pushed away for a moment to turn all the apparatuses off.

Stiles laid back, then Derek crawled to lay on top of him. And he weighed even more like this than when he was just leaning.

"A ton," he said. "You weigh a ton, Derek."

"Yes. And you like it."

"Mmm," he attempted. "Okay fine. Yes."

"Besides," Derek said. "This way you have to listen to me whine and bitch."

Stiles grunted. Breathing was a little more difficult with some two hundred pounds of werewolf on him. Derek then rolled off to be wedged against the back of the couch and against Stiles.

"I'd listen anyway," Stiles said. Their noses almost touched.

"Hmm."

"So talk." Stiles, in an awkward motion, put his hand on Derek's shoulder, settling for holding hands when the position continued to feel weird.

"Thanks for watching with me." Derek kept his eyes trained on Stiles. It was hard not to get lost in the sea of ever-changing green. "I had last seen it with my mom and dad. I'd had a bad day at school, so they sat down and watched it with me. Laura joined us too. I've carried that memory with me during the darkest times. Now, I can carry you there too."

"Keep going, Derek, tell me more."

"I miss them all so much, Stiles." Derek looked sad, his eyes unfocused.

"I miss my mom, too." Stiles squeezed Derek's hand. "I miss her every day. It's okay to miss them, Derek."

He rolled up on to his side, so his body faced Derek's. Luminous eyes watching him, nostrils flared momentarily. Stiles felt drawn to Derek's lips and he'd never properly kissed Derek. So he moved closer, Derek's eyes flicking to his mouth.

In moments, he was kissing Derek. Light stubble felt like sandpaper against his skin, but Stiles didn't push into the kiss more than Derek had, so the rough scratching didn't bother him. But Stiles wanted more of Derek. The taste of him filled Stiles' mouth—he couldn't help moaning into the kiss, and pressing deeper, trying to devour more of Derek. He tentatively tried to press his tongue to Derek's lips. The next thing he knew, his tongue was exploring Derek's mouth, and then Derek's tongue was in his mouth. Stiles couldn't breathe enough through his nose.

The withheld passion was almost too much. Stiles tried to roll on top of Derek, but he couldn't. Then Derek was on top of him, hands fisted in his hair, and Derek pressing more with his mouth than Stiles had believed was possible. It was so difficult to breath—then he sucked in air into his devoid-of-Derek mouth and there was wet heat on his neck. Stiles inhaled sharply at the new sensation. Derek didn't bite or suck—bruising like a peach? not so fun—but the sensation of mouth and tongue and the feeling of Derek above him …. Totally lost.

"Oh my god, Derek …." Stiles clutched the back of Derek's henley.

Derek mumbled something to Stiles' throat, though he couldn't catch what the other man said.

And then Stiles' stomach decided to break the moment and rumble. Loudly. Twice.

"Hungry?" Derek sat up and grinned.

Stiles covered his face, his cheeks flushed red. "Oh my god, we were … and then …. My body hates me!"

Derek laughed. "Oh, it's okay. What did you want to eat?"

He was just sitting there. On him, on his lap, his hands so warm against his sides. Talking about food while fully clothed. Not fair at all.

Derek slid off to the other end of the couch. Stiles sat up, feeling self-conscious at how Derek looked at him. It was so unexpected, open and _hungry._

"Pizza?" Stiles suggested again. "Maybe? I'm not going to get dressed. Today is all about being lazy."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Fine. I am dressed, however, so if you want takeout …."

"Oooh, are you buying again?" Stiles asked. "Pizza. From Village Pizza. So. Good."

"I guess …." Derek crossed his arms. "What do you want."

"Bacon," Stiles said with no hesitation. "And mushrooms. And olives maybe."

"Dang, anything else?" Derek winked. "I got a complicated order!"

Stiles blinked a few times. What the heck was that all about?

"I'll show you the video later." He pulled his phone out and punched a few buttons. "Hi, yes. To go. What specials do you have? Hmm. Okay. I'll take two large. On one I'll have sausage, pepperoni, and mushroom. Yeah that's fine. And the other, bacon, olives? and mushrooms? Yes. Right. Okay, about how long? Perfect. No, no. I'll come pick it up. Thanks."

Derek hung up then looked at Stiles. "Twenty minutes."

"No delivery?" He tried his best to look wounded.

"Sheriff's house. Older man." He pointed to himself. "Sheriff's son. I'll pick up pizza. Also, maybe drinks too. Root beer?"

"We're out." Stiles flopped against the back of the couch. "So. I guess this is like something?" Stiles gestured frantically between them.

Derek leaned on his hand and gazed at Stiles. If he could read thoughts—okay, if reading thoughts didn't mean Derek would know he had magic—it would come in handy right now.

"I mean," Stiles said. "We've kissed like three times. So you like me, right? And I like you, so we could be dating right?"

"You're thinking too much." Derek smirked. "We are dating. It's okay. We're taking it easy."

Stiles searched Derek's face, watch the lines on his face soften as he relaxed. "You okay? I mean, the whole thing with the movie?"

Derek gave him a soft smile. "Yeah. I'm okay. I've had time to grieve. It hit me hard, and I knew it would. But I wanted to share that with you."

Stiles moved closer and laid his head on Derek's shoulder. "Thank you. For trusting me enough to share this with me."

"I moved to the warehouse district. It's safe enough there. I just … I'm not good at this trust thing, Stiles."

Fuck. "I know, Derek." Stiles threw his arms around him and hugged him tight. Derek stiffened under the hug, relaxing after a moment to hug him back. Stiles nuzzled into Derek's shoulder. "I'm not perfect. We can work."

"I know," Derek stroked his back. "I should grab the pizza."

Stiles slowly let go of Derek. "Okay. I'll be here. Waiting."

"I'll be back soon." Derek gave him a sweet smile, more innocent and genuine than he'd given the woman at the front desk at the station. Stiles almost melted.

Derek got up and kissed Stiles once on the cheek. He bolted up the stairs to grab his jacke, then glancing back at the door before leaving.

Stiles sighed, and picked up his phone, flipping it around a few times. He unlocked it and checked for messages.

-kevin went on a food run. no need for worrying. fed and happy. Dad.

-salad? S.

-um. yes? Dad.

-then we are having healthy dinner tonight. S.

-michael called out. Dad.

-soooooo you have to work tonight too? daaaad. why can't someone else work. :( S.

-i know, son. ill be back around 10/11. I expect you to be asleep. school in the morning. Dad.

-… okay. S.

Stiles had no other texts, so he tossed his phone up and down for a couple minutes. Village Pizza wasn't that far, a good ten minute drive, so Derek wouldn't be long. Stiles grabbed his laptop from his room and logged on to a few sites—mobile was okay, but he liked the bigger real estate on the laptop and the better sites designs.

He posted a few things on facebook and checked if Scott had said anything useful other than some cryptic Allison update. He heard the front door knob turn, and grasped his magic—surprisingly docile after extended Derek contact—but did not release it. Just in case. But it was Derek.

Derek took off his sunglasses, and folded them up. Two pizza boxes were in one hand, and the other had a six pack of the good root beer. The food smelled so good. Stiles involuntarily stood up and grabbed the pizza boxes, bringing them to the kitchen table.

"Sorry, Dad insists I actually eat at the table. Like a normal human." Stiles rummaged around for a few paper plates and napkins. Derek took off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. "Ice?" Stiles shook two glasses at Derek.

"Um, yeah. They didn't have any refrigerated." Derek popped the caps off of two root beers and set one in front of himself and one across from him, for Stiles.

After sitting down, Stiles poured his drink and listened to the bubbles while watching them sink. Derek laughed.

"No, Stiles, you do it like this." Derek held the glass at a forty-five degree angle, and tipped the root beer slowly in, so no foam formed on top. It took a while, but then Derek set down an empty bottle.

Stiles tilted his head. "But then you don't get to hear the bubbles."

Derek rolled his eyes dramatically. "That's not the point. Anyway." He gestured to the pizza.

"Right." Stiles opened the box on top to reveal … Derek's pizza. "Yours." Though he did steal a piece. Just to make sure that it was safe for consumption. Derek retaliated by taking one of Stiles' slices.

Stiles chowed down fast: when did he get so hungry? And Derek ate equally fast. When he finished the last piece—absolutely stuffed—he looked over at Derek, who had also managed to eat a whole pizza. Werewolves.

"Ugh. So full."

Derek quirked the corner of his lips. "You're welcome."

"I can't move," Stiles complained. "I think I may need a nap."

"Well, you've already had one, but we could nap." Derek shrugged, though Stiles thought he could see a hint of smile. "If you want."

"My dad is at the station until ten. So napping equals a good idea."

Derek made no move to get up.

"Okay, fine. Let's get rid of the evidence." Stiles grabbed their trash and took it outside to one of the bins. Derek put the root beer into the fridge. How did still manage to look so good after eating an entire pizza? He felt like he might burst at the seam.

Stiles looked down then headed for the stairs. "Come on, don't look so sour. Napping is awesome."

"Really, Stiles?"

Stiles sniffed, then ascended the stairs. He pushed into his room and crawled into bed. Glorious and comfortable were two words that came to mind. Derek stood in the door like a parent. Ew.

"Come join. It's more fun to nap socially, Derek."

Derek shoved off the jamb, and stalked toward the bed, shucking his pants as a matter of course. "Not gonna sleep in jeans."

Stiles smiled. "Big spoon, little spoon?"

Derek said nothing, but curled up behind Stiles and wrapped an arm around him. Big spoon then. Stiles sighed and wiggled back into Derek's solid frame. He adjusted his breathing to match the rise and fall of Derek's chest.

"Derek," he ventured.

"Mmm?"

"For what it's worth," Stiles began, "I wanted to say that I'm sorry for being a dick. I just …."

"Shh. It's okay."

Hot breath ghosted along his neck.

Derek's fingers intertwined with his. "We can watch movies the rest of the day if you want. Play video games, whatever. Talk."

"I like talking. Talking is good." Stiles closed his eyes, his body felt so heavy. "We can talk all day and night. Talk, talk, talk."

"Mmm," Derek agreed.

Stiles exhaled, at peace and very relaxed. Derek was here. Concomitant or not, he was falling more and more for the sourwolf. Even the magic under his skin sighed contentedly, instead of boiling over. In moments, Stiles was fast asleep.

* * *

Notes: There is ART for this chapter! It's on my tumblr (hbrooks01) and it's tagged as art. Also, follow me there if you want!


	22. Picnic in the Preserve

Derek sat on the stairs leading into the rotting train. He really wanted to ask Stiles to be official—boyfriend and boyfriend. But he first needed to get another date. It had been a couple days, and every night he'd gone to bed alone, he imagined holding Stiles in his arms. Even though they were both supposed to nap, Derek had only dozed for a short time. Instead, he had tried to memorize the feeling of holding his mate. Of being there. He wanted so much more and felt like he was moving at a glacial pace.

Though he was on sure footing with Stiles, Derek stared at his phone trying to figure out what to text. What to say to get that forth date—some magical tipping point or something. He smiled. Stiles had gone hiking with his dad last Saturday, and Derek thought showing him through the woods at this time of year would be nice, perhaps camping and stargazing. Something outdoors, so he could share a part of himself with Stiles.

-so, um, hey what are you doing friday? D.

-we, uh, need to talk about the whole turning everyone at school thing. S.

-? D.

-the whole erica, you know, and boyd thing. and the grrrrr. S.

-oh. um we can talk about it on friday? *hopeful* D.

-OMG derek!? uuuuuurgh. okay fine. :( why are you so pretty and irresistible. its totally not fair. S.

-sorry. I just, I want to have time to figure out what to say to you about it. you get me all brain-stupid. D.

-OMG i just cantttttt. derek! blergh. S.

-can't what!? :( D.

-you. you are just so … DEREK! aosuhgauhg! yes. pick me up. or? s.

-yes, tell your dad your spending the night with scott. camping! D.

-… S.

-no camping? D.

-i guess. no bugs right? you'll alpha them away? S.

-… uh yes? see you friday. D.

-see you sourwolf. ;) S.

Derek rolled his eyes, though no one was around to see it. Isaac was … doing whatever somewhere in the district. He needed to run free for a bit, and Derek told him the warehouse district was fine. Erica and Boyd were both back in school today, and apparently word travelled fast around the werewolf community at Beacon Hills High.

Now he just had to wait a couple days to see Stiles again. But in that time he had to come up with some sort of training for his new werewolves. He walked the length of the warehouse, looking at the obstacles he could throw in the way to help them get strong. Grabbing some paper of Isaac's, Derek sketched out a few courses he could work with, and wrote out a few routines to help them get stronger. His training with Scott had helped him figure out what would work and what wouldn't—Scott had become strong and the whole defiance thing was … interesting.

* * *

Friday afternoon finally rolled around. Derek's week had been way too long. He had been itching by Thursday morning, more and more impatient with his new pack. He had to keep reminding himself that they were just sixteen and made mistakes, but he needed them to learn, and to learn fast. With an alpha pack on the way … he needed strength. With the mysterious monster out on the loose, he need more strength, more numbers to be eyes and ears. But tonight, well, tonight was all about Stiles. And all of tomorrow too.

He had it all planned out: a picnic dinner over looking the town, then a sunset walk through the woods, coming upon the clearing just above the river, sheltered in a hollow surrounded by trees. They'd build up a small, but cheery fire, exchange a few stories, make s'mores, and then curl up for bed in the small tent Derek had set up. In the morning, Derek would get up early, make a campfire breakfast, coffee, gently—no, probably forcefully—wake Stiles up, and watch the sunrise together between the trees. Then, well, he'd probably have to take Stiles home.

Pressing a secret snapshot of Stiles singing in his room from some few days ago, Derek listened to the ringing.

"Yo, D-man. What up?"

"That's what you lead with, Stiles?" Derek chuffed. "Really?"

"Ugh, you know. The whole hearing thing? Hearing is going on."

"Right. Rendezvous at the appointed time and place?"

"Roger that, D-man. Stiles, over and out."

Derek stared at his phone, a grinning Stiles. That meant Scott was near—hopefully freaking out about Allison or something, and not paying attention to Stiles' conversation. Derek grabbed all the gear, wrote a note for Isaac and packed his car up. The treaty with the hunters was broken, by the hunters of course. The monster was still loose, and Derek really shouldn't be taking a day off to go play with Stiles. But he needed a break, needed to feel like a normal human being again. Not some monster himself, some terrible thing that went bump in the night. No, this—however illogical—was necessary for him.

Driving out to the sheriff's house, Derek kept to the speed limit and parked a ways away from the house. The cruiser was not in the driveway, which meant that Stiles' dad wasn't home. Strange cars in the driveway of the lawman? Not a good idea for Derek—exonerated as he was. The Jeep wasn't there either, so Derek sat in his car and waited. He was a little early, after all.

When Stiles pulled up, Derek sniffed the air. The Jeep needed work, and pretty soon. He sent Stiles a quick message that he was outside. Stiles flailed at the front door, and Derek chuckled to himself. God, Stiles was so goofy and awkward, but then there was this side that was so passionate, and just amazingly rich and strong. Derek knew the flailing and awkward limbs would go away—he was like that himself a short few years ago, all lank and no muscle. But that had changed. Stiles might never be his size, but he'd thicken with age.

Derek waited, listening to Stiles' heartbeat as he wandered the house. He couldn't keep the quirk from his mouth at knowing that the elevated rate was all due to him, sitting in his car, waiting. Stiles was nervous and excited—and probably pissed too. Well, Derek would have to tell him the truth, wouldn't he.

In moments, Stiles appeared in the front door, a big loaded bag in his hand. What the hell was Stiles bringing? Derek kept his sunglasses on. The better to hide his lingering gaze on the object of his desire.

Stiles tapped on the back on the trunk, and Derek popped it open. He hoped the rearranging going on back there wasn't doing damage to his camping gear. That stuff was expensive and useful if he needed to run from the hunters.

Then, Stiles was breathing next to him, mouth slightly open.

"Well," Stiles said. "We going?"

"Almost," Derek said. He leaned over and gently kissed Stiles on the lips—rather chaste, but considering the neighborhood …. "By the way, you need to get your starter fixed on the Jeep."

"Okay." Stiles had a dopey, dreamy look on his face and Derek could only be happy he'd put that expression on that malleable face.

"So," Stiles said as they drove off. "I know this is a romantic outdoor getaway and all …."

"But?" Derek prompted.

"But what is with the turning all the Beacon Hills social rejects into sexy social butterfly werewolves?" Stiles gestured for emphasis. "Am I next on the list?"

"I offered them—and before you go all Scott on me, yes I did tell them the consequences—and they accepted. No, you aren't." Derek reached over to hold Stiles' hand.

"Why not? What's wrong with me?"

"Do you want to be turned?"

"No." Stiles seemed sheepish, and his heart did a strange skip, not like he was lying … but there was something else going on.

"Then there you go," Derek said.

"So are you going to tell me why?"

Derek squeezed Stiles' hand gently. He'd been thinking and thinking of how to explain it, and he hoped it went well enough. "Yes. Well, I hope you understand. I need a pack. Not like, 'oh hey, you look tasty, come join the leather gang,' but like, 'oh if I don't have water, I'll die of thirst.' So yeah. I need a pack. Isaac gave me the suggestions, actually."

"Why Erica? Why Boyd? And now that he's in your pack can you make him give me my fifty bucks back?"

"Fifty? For what?"

"Uh … date night with Scott and Allison. Also Lydia and me where there—and no, I'm not pining after her."

"Preemptive. Well done."

Derek turned into the main drag through town.

"Where are we going?" Stiles looked around, confused. "I mean, the preserve is in the opposite direction, right?"

"Yes, it is." Derek looked around. He needed to get the picnic and wanted to wait until he'd picked up Stiles. He parked on the street near the restaurant. "I'll be right back. Need to get something real quick. And yes. I'll tell you why those two."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing this means stay in the car, and you'll tell me?"

Derek grinned. "Exactly."

Sure that Stiles would stay put, Derek half-jogged, half-walked to Anthony's Southern Goodness—why fried chicken? Derek couldn't say, but it seemed like a good idea for the picnic he had planned. He waited in line for a few minutes, paid for the basket (still hot, thank goodness) and dashed out back to the car. He hid the food in the trunk in a special keep-food-warm thing Laura had bought a few years ago. Not perfect, but it worked well enough.

"What did you get?" Stiles said when Derek buckled in.

"You'll see. It's food, so you'll like it." Derek started the car and drove back toward the preserve. It was almost four already. Perfect. It'd be about five by the time they reached the summit overlooking the town.

"You're back in the car, and now you will tell me wonderful answers that satisfy my curiosity."

"Fine, fine. Right. Erica first?"

Stiles nodded.

"Epileptic. I admit, I played into her disorder, but for good reason. Erica is stronger than she looks and determined. Not as loyal as I think Isaac is, but Erica she is fierce and smart.

"Boyd," Derek continued. "Well, he is obviously strong. Like a wall. My pack needs someone like that. He needs a social group, friends. Pack provides that. Erica and Boyd compliment each other. I need energy in Erica, loyalty in Isaac, and support in Boyd. Scott won't join, and he'd be the heart I need. We'd be a very strong pack."

"You mean you actually had a plan all along?" Stiles sounded surprised.

"Yes and no. There are a lot of other people that could have filled the spots that I needed, but what all three new members have, Stiles, is that they are all in need of me too. We will work better together, be stronger together. There is no pack that is ever perfect. But we all complement each other's strengths."

"Okay. So you didn't just do it because you wanted to ruin lives? Be a life ruiner?"

"No, you can tell Scott that, okay?"

"Ha! You found me out. I'm sorry, Scott is my best friend. But it is good to hear that you aren't the monster he keeps painting you out to be." Stiles reached over and took Derek's hand.

"Thanks," he said. "Now, I hope you are ready for a nice little hike."

Derek pulled into a dark, lesser worn path into the preserve and parked the conspicuous car into a screened area. Stiles got out and stretched, his arms pulling up the shirts he was wearing. Derek paused to let his eyes linger on the bare patches of skin. God Stiles was just so beautiful; his heart skipped a beat and it took him a moment to remember what the hell he was supposed to be doing.

Shaking himself out of his momentary stupor, Derek popped open the trunk.

"So, what's the plan?" Stiles asked. "I brought a bunch of stuff."

"Well," Derek scratched his head. He'd come back for most of the gear. The ice chest had all the stuff for breakfast that needed to be cool. And the camping spot wasn't too far from the car. He could run and grab everything before it got too dark—or he could take everything but the food. Blergh.

"Depends," Derek said finally.

"On?"

"Whether or not I want to come back to the car or not." Deciding, Derek pulled out just the picnic basket and the backpack with the water and a few essentials. "You can leave your stuff here. I'll grab it super quick later."

"Um, Derek? That's a lot of stuff you'll be carrying later."

"Werewolf strength." He winked. "Alpha on top of that, so I can manage."

"Wow, do I feel useless."

Derek glared. "You aren't. If you want to carry you bag for several hours, by all means go ahead, but don't complain to me."

"Fine, fine!" Stiles threw up his hands in apparent defeat. "You can carry it for me."

"Good," Derek said. "Ready?"

Stiles nodded.

Derek set off on through the wild track to a more blazed trail leading up to the summit. Stiles said little, other than to complain about his poor legs. Derek just ignored those. He made sure to pause enough for Stiles to catch his breath, or to point out some bit of history or beautiful view. Stiles always hummed in appreciated and liked when Derek talked—so he spoke a little more than he would have in most other situations.

Close to the summit, Derek checked his watch. They'd made good time, just before five and another few minutes to the top. He'd wondered if Stiles had ever been up here at this time of day. Watching the lights come on before the sun set and the spending the last bit of daylight in the forest …. Derek had always loved spending time in the preserve outside of his home when he was younger.

"Oh my god. Make out point much?" Stiles said.

Derek felt heat in his cheeks. "Uh … what?"

Stiles laughed. "Don't worry. Never been up here, but man. You are so ridiculously romantic, Derek. Do you have any idea?"

"Maybe? No, not really." He turned away from Stiles. "You don't like it?"

Stiles chuckled. "Of course I do. I'm a hopeless romantic, young and new to the ways of lurve."

"Please don't say that," Derek said. "It's silly. So, yeah, here it is."

Derek waved his hands at Beacon Hills below them. Stiles sidled up to him, and took his free hand. A breeze created a soft susurrus in the air; the pine scent fresh and clean. Like this was the start of something new. He couldn't taste ashes on the wind. Just something new. Derek exhaled the breath he didn't know he'd held.

"Beacon Hills," Derek said. He pulled Stiles a little closer. "A place I never thought I could return to and have answer, let alone find happiness again."

"I've never seen it from here. It looks so small." Stiles leaned into Derek.

He slipped his arm around Stiles, and kissed him on the head. "What are you thinking about?"

Stiles shrugged. "Just that there are so many people I know and care about here. I just … It seems like we are in the middle of something we don't understand."

Derek nodded, letting his hand fall from Stiles' waist. "Ready for dinner?"

"What do you have in that pick-a-nic basket, Derek?"

He arched an eyebrow. He searched for the right spot, then crouched down—blocking Stiles from seeing him unpack—and pulled out a blanket. He shook it out, then pulled out the fried chicken and biscuits, mashed potatoes and from his backpack two water bottles.

"No soda?" Stiles asked.

"You need water after a hike like that." Derek handed him one. "Fried chicken."

"Oh my god! From Anthony's? Seriously, best fried chicken ever. I haven't had it since making my dad eat healthy."

Stiles collapsed on the blanket grabbing at the food. Derek folded himself down, and picked through the plate.

"I hope it's okay," Derek said. "I didn't know what to get and this seemed right."

Stiles already had a mouthful of drumstick. "Perfect."

Derek inched closer to Stiles the whole meal until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other. The sun slipped in the sky, toward the horizon. It would be completely dark in a half hour. Everything had been eaten—a werewolf and a hungry teen made quick work of the basket. Even Stiles managed to drink a whole water bottle.

Derek rested his head on Stiles' shoulder. "We should get down from here before it's too hard for you to see. The place I have in mind is close by, just like fifteen minutes downhill."

"Which way?" Stiles stretched, knocking Derek off.

"The steeper way." Derek pointed to the other side. "I know the preserve well enough that we won't be lost. But yeah, it's quicker going down that way."

Stiles stood up, then moved to look out on the town. Derek used his supernatural speed to clean everything up fast. By the time Stiles turned around again, Derek had the basket in his hand.

"Shall we?"

Stiles took his hand and followed him down the steep trail. Following the sound of the river, Derek soon found the cleaning with the fire ring in it. It was surround by tall pines and filled around with tall deciduous trees that blocked winds and smells. There was a short break that offered a lovely view of the river. And there the bridge was still there. He and Laura had built that when he was twelve for the last of his fort game stage.

"Sweet bridge," Stiles said behind him. "This the place?"

Derek nodded and crossed over the small river. He stood there, waiting for Stiles to cross.

"So. Do I wait?" Stiles sat on one of the stones. That was the rock he'd always sat on.

"Here," Derek tossed Stiles a flashlight. "Grab some kindling and wood if you can. For a fire. I'll be back in a couple minutes. And no groaning about super speed, either!"

Stiles laughed. "Fine. Just hurry up. I doubt that crazy monster hunts in the woods, but you never know."

Derek stopped, and turned around. "Be careful, okay?"

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

Derek looked around and took a couple sniffs. Nothing seemed out of place. He had caught scent of the creature before, but it had been faint. He took off at an obscene pace and was at the car in a few minutes. He put the basket in the back and grabbed everything else that he'd left behind early. Though he was weighed down, he could bear it. Before running back to Stiles, he marked his car with his scent, wiping his hands on the edges. No wild animal would miss or mess with the scent. No need to wake up to a destroyed car because a bear got hungry for greasy napkins.

Checking that he had everything, Derek took off, running through the forests, listening for the familiar heart beat. It took him a little longer than before but he managed. When he stopped, Stiles gave him his best glare.

"You're not even breathing hard," he said.

Derek smirked. "Nope." He dropped the packs and gear, picking out the tent. "Help me set this up over there."

Stiles unfolded himself from the same stone. Derek noticed there was a sizable amount of wood piled near the fire pit. "Good work."

Stiles smiled a secret smile. "Thanks."

It took a little effort and some yelling, but eventually the tent was up, and the sun had finally set. The half-moon was hanging in the sky—plenty of light for Derek to see.

"Can you build up the fire?" Derek asked. "I'm going to throw some ropes up into the trees. For putting the food up later."

Stiles nodded. Derek grabbed the neat cords from a pack and threw them over some of the sturdier, higher branches, making sure to leave enough space to haul things up later. He then started the fire and grabbed two likely sticks for the marshmallows.

"S'mores D?"

"Of course. It wouldn't be camping without s'mores. The stuff is in the green pack, middle zipper." Derek poked at the fire, getting the flames to settle down enough for s'mores.

Stiles settled the pack between them and drew out a few marshmallows. Derek didn't say anything, just made one s'more and then another. Stiles watched, though he didn't make any.

Derek rolled his shoulders a few times. There were no stories being told, so maybe he'd have to tell himself.

"Laura and I used to come camp out here."

Stiles looked up, his face lit by the fire. He looked different, somehow stronger, more able, more dangerous than Derek had ever seen him. Stiles didn't have his customary smile on.

"Stiles?"

"I'm sorry about your sister. We didn't know."

"You've said it before. I forgave you."

Stiles kicked the dirt around. "Why do you make it so easy and so hard?"

What was he talking about? "What?"

"I don't know," Stiles shrugged. "It's just. I don't know."

"Did I do something wrong?" Derek twirled the stick between his fingers, unsure of what had happened to change the mood.

"No." But there was the stutter—the lie.

Derek didn't point it out, but it was obvious there was something going on. He racked his brain. "You used to make s'mores with your mom."

Stiles said nothing, but Derek knew it to be the truth the moment it left his mouth. How could he fuck up in record time? Derek, unsure of what to do, stood and raised all the packs up, the ice chest, everything with food—and tied them off around a tree. He then sat back down on Laura's rock, letting his elbows rest on his knees as he gazed at the fire. He'd long pushed away the phantoms, ash much worse than actual fire. Stiles stared, flames elongating his shadow and face.

Derek remained quiet. He didn't know what to do, reach over? Stay away? Stiles knew exactly what he needed, and yet here he was, unsure of what to do. So he took the easy way and waited, waited for Stiles to do or say something.

"Yes." Stiles didn't look at him, the silence stretched too thin. He looked to have woken up, drawing circles in the dirt with the stick. Derek remained still. So much for the stories then.

Derek opened his mouth to say something.

"Can we go to bed?" Stiles beat him to it.

Derek nodded. "Yeah."

Stiles grabbed his backpack and took out his pajamas, those same ones he wore when they'd watched the movies. He fumbled with the zipper of the tent—something large enough to stand up in. Derek didn't follow just yet. He surveyed the clearing one last time, sniffing. Nothing nearby. He brought his pack into the tent and zipped up after. Stiles was digging around in his backpack looking for something.

Derek rolled out a large sleeping pad that would cushion the rocks invariably hiding, and then rolled out the sleeping bag—big enough for two. His heart dropped at the sudden realization that Stiles may not want to sleep in the same bag tonight. He hadn't thought about that.

Stiles turned around and eyed the bag. He almost said something, but Derek cut him off.

"It's okay. I'll sleep outside. It's fine." Derek turned his back to Stiles and shucked all his clothing. He unzipped the tent, stepped outside, zipped it back up, and shifted to his wolf form and lay down on the soft dirt in front of the tent flap. He heard Stiles exhale loudly, then get in to the sleeping bag.

He settled his muzzle on his paws and blinked slowly, watching the wood burn to ash and the moon transverse the sky. Derek closed his eyes and relaxed, but didn't feel the need to sleep just yet. The wolf-form didn't need as much rest and so just relaxing and centering himself was enough for him to get by on very little sleep. But he allowed himself to doze a little.

He awoke to the sound of a zipper, and deftly moved out of the way, assuming Stiles needed to pee out in the woods. Indeed, a sleepy, fuzzy Stiles head poked out of the tent.

"Oh." Stiles stepped out, shoes on and trotted off to the woods.

Derek settled down again, and watched, his eyes open for trouble with Stiles out in the woods. But nothing happened. Stiles came back after a moment, and looked down at Derek.

"You do make a pretty wolf." He bent down. "Now come inside and quite grumble-whining. I'm sorry, okay? I am a total jerkface meanie."

Derek stoop up, on all fours, and followed Stiles in. Once inside the tent, he shifted, Stiles' eyes never leaving him as his body re-aligned and flowed to his human shape. He was totally naked in front of a minor. Who happened to be the sheriff's son.

"Wow." Stiles lay on top of the sleeping bag, his mouth hanging open.

Derek rolled his eyes, but crawled toward the sleeping bag. "Get in," he said.

Stiles flailed for a moment, the finally unzipped the bag. Derek followed Stiles in, rezipping the bag behind him. Forced close to Stiles, Derek wrapped his arms around the younger man and nuzzled against his shoulder and neck.

"I'm sorry, Derek. I really am."

"It's okay," Derek said softly. Stiles in his arms again felt so right, so natural. "Just don't do it again."

"Hey, look at me," Stiles said.

Derek gazed into those honey brown eyes and nearly lost himself. Stiles was just so beautiful, such a work of art. "I'm looking."

Stiles moved closer, those eyes growing larger and soon, Derek couldn't hold back, and clutched Stiles close, kissing him hard, tasting the remnants of the fried chicken. Derek lingered as long as he could, sucking in air through his nose. He was unashamed at how much this turned him on. Stiles would be well aware of that.

Stiles was the one to pull back. "Derek. Man." Stiles reached up to lay a finger on his jawline. "You are incredible."

He smiled, "Thank you." Laying on his back, he pulled Stiles in, drawing circles between the broad shoulder blades.

Stiles snuggled closer on Derek's chest, burying himself. "You are also pretty big, you know."

Derek snorted. "Well, you've had the privilege. I'm not going to take liberty."

"Not as big as me." Stiles giggled. "So …."

Derek looked down at Stiles. Oh no. "Not gonna happen tonight. We're not even official yet."

"Official? What are you talking about?"

"We're dating a little bit. But I want it to be serious."

"Serious as in Scott and Allison serious?"

"No, as in we'll be real about it, not all fakey and dramatic."

Stiles shook with laughter. "Oh my god, I so want to tell Scott that. Man he's a total loser and only thinks about her."

"Exactly." Derek kissed Stiles on the forehead. "I think about you, but there is so much more going on."

"I think about you too."

"Shh." Derek closed his eyes, sleepy despite his arousal. "I care and I want you. But not tonight, not like this."

Stiles shifted closer. "Hmmm."

"Goodnight."

"Night, D."

In the morning, Derek would do as he planned: make breakfast and watch as the sun rose, holding on to Stiles, breathing Stiles, kissing Stiles …. He wished he could live in the moments with the younger man forever. Those thoughts sung him sweetly to sleep.

* * *

Notes: OMG THE TRAILER! I lost a whole day to just the trailer. And it's like a week until the new season starts. *dies* Things are going. I have one more chapter planned out ... and then ... yeah. I've got to rewatch the second season again to figure out where i want to go. Just in time for S3! You can find me/yell at me on tumbr at hbrooks01


	23. Swimming Pool Magic

Stiles didn't mind sitting on the bench. Coach was screaming and yelling—sounding almost as bad a birther. But the air wasn't too cold, not with his layers. He was waiting for the signal from Allison to grab the keys to the principal's office she had said she would procure. Scott was out on the field, doing Scott things. Though he'd been paralyzed yesterday (something to do with the monster running around, the lizard thing) he felt normal today. Except his legs were dying because of the messenger role he had to play between Scott and Allison. Why did neither of them consider burn phones? Seriously. So much easier on his little human lungs. Of course teleportation in the middle of school would not be the most subtle thing.

So while waiting, Stiles obsessively checked his phone while glancing toward Allison. Derek had sent him some cryptic text and seemed all pissy about the whole "you got paralyzed and could have been killed" thing. He also seemed upset about Stiles not wanting to discuss the whole watching someone die thing too—like he hadn't closed his eyes for that.

Allison was next to Old Man Creeper, aka Gerard Argent, aka Principal Argent. And of course the new wolflets Erica and Boyd were watching the game. Though why were they here? Allison gave him the briefest of nods and he got up as discreetly as possible and snatched the keys from her hand. Time to go hunting for bestiaries. Why the Council wanted him to cooperate in this manner, Stiles couldn't figure out, but he knew there must be some logic behind it. Perhaps it was all training until he could be trusted to use his powers.

He had to bypass crying Lydia. She did look pretty, with tear-stained cheeks, and he told her so. But greater things called, such has not dying.

Once in the office, he looked for anything book-like. Of course, being an Argent, and a crusty old one at that, Stiles didn't look anywhere obvious. Like the top of the desk but for a cursory glance. Nothing turned up as he dug around for several minutes.

"Stiles," a honeyed voice said.

He looked up to see Erica grinning.

"Come on. I don't want to pinch your ear too hard. Derek said I shouldn't _really_ hurt you. I don't know why he would say that. Maybe because you have some information for us?"

"Alright, alright. I'm coming." Stiles pocketed his phone after texting Allison. So much for that conversation with Lydia. So much for finding the bestiary. Maybe Allison would find something at the house.

"I'm wondering why Derek is so interested in you," Erica said conversationally. "I mean, he seems to think that you have all the answers, and for life of me, I can't figure out why. Though he was very angry when I mentioned you disappearing from the game to allow Boyd to go play your spot on lacrosse. At you? Or at Boyd? Hmm."

"Couldn't help you on that one. I'm not the werewolf whisperer you know."

Erica grabbed his ear and dragged him down to the pool area—why the pool?—and there stood Derek, looking pissed. Like more pissed than Stiles had seen him for a long time.

"Stiles." His voice was cold—devoid of emotion of the happiness. Fuck.

"Derek?"

"Tell me what you saw in the mechanic's shop."

Well, if Derek decided to sourwolf it, Stiles would lay on his extensive charms. "A bunch of alarming EPA violations I'm considering reporting. Holy god."

"Let's try that again," Derek said, throwing the deflated basketball at his feet. Erica looked smug, but Derek? Though his tone was cold, colder than it had been for a long time, his eyes. They pleaded for truth and understanding. Okay, so Stiles was being an asshole. Again. Fuck!

"Alright." Stiles launched into his best description, seeing the screaming beast in his mind's eye. Uncomfortable, he motioned to the door. "I have someone I need to talk to." He didn't want to mention Lydia.

Derek gave him a look and, frustrated with his beauty, Stiles relented. Since he was thinking about eyes anyway …. He gave them more description.

Erica looked up, and backed away. Derek followed.

"It's like you know what I'm talking about. Have you seen it?" Stiles looked up behind him and saw the scaled monster. His instinct was to rush to Derek's side and protect him if he could.

The monster jumped down, knocking Erica out of commission—so much for werewolf strength. Derek shoved Stiles behind him.

"Run!"

Then the creature slashed the back of Derek's neck. Like it had at the mechanics. Paralyzing.

"Your neck!" Not thinking, he grabbed ahold of Derek and dragged him away from the lizard monster.

"Do you see it?" Derek said. He sounded weak. "Call Scott."

He dropped his phone and when he reached to get it, Derek fell into the water. With only a glance to the fallen electronic device, Stiles dived into the pool after Derek. He grabbed hold of Derek and kicked to the surface of the pool. Great. How much did a wet werewolf weigh?

"Do you see it?"

Derek took a huge breath. "No."

"Maybe it left?" Stiles couldn't see Creepy Lizard anywhere. Then he'd just be cold. He couldn't hold Derek up forever.

"I don't think so. I heard it scream." Derek remained completely still. Paralyzed.

Treading water after all that crazy running around was not going to do him any good. He could already feel himself weakening. And they'd been in the water all of five minutes.

Stiles started toward the edge of the water, to see if he could hold on to something while calling Scott.

"Wait!" Derek said.

Stiles swiveled his head to watch the lizard thing stalk them. It approached, intent on something, and Stiles had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to be anything good. He could feel magic buzzing strongly. But could he risk even trying while Derek was there? What would he do if he found out?

The monster stuck its clawed hand into the water. Hissing, it leaped back as if it were lava and not a pool. Chlorine was bad, but not _that _bad.

"Did you see that?"

"Yes," Derek said.

"It won't come in the water."

"Which means you're going to hold me up."

"Yeah. Dummy." Stiles tried to remain calm. Evil lizard monster out of the pool, pissed werewolf boyfriend in the pool. "Still mad at me now?"

"Maybe."

"Well, as you can obviously see, this mysterious lizard creature took out Erica pretty quick, but didn't kill her. I'm still here, babbling, so it didn't kill me either."

"I can hear that."

Stiles swished around. At least he wouldn't be too cold in the water. "Don't be so sour all the time."

"Are we really having this conversation right now? While we are about to drown?"

Stiles harrumphed.

"Yes, while I keep us a float." Being on the swim team would have been an excellent choice instead of lacrosse—and more practical in this situation.

"Stiles. I don't want to have this conversation. In eight feet of water."

"Seven." Treading water … it felt like that was exactly how the relationship felt at the moment. Stiles needed some answers about Derek's behavior over the last couple days, and—fuck he wasn't going to be able to keep afloat without using magic. Damn.

"Derek …" Stiles said. "Don't kill me."

"I'm immobile." If Stiles could see the werewolf's face, he was sure it would have been something sour looking.

Stiles took a big a breath as he dared. Then he touched on the magic—no screaming, good—and let it go to keep them afloat. He then turned the magic to see if he could take out the lizard monster with some nice crunching of bones, but … nothing happened. Fuck.

"Stiles. Stiles. What the fuck is that smell? It's like … like you but with ozone after a lightning strike."

Derek wrinkled his nose. Stiles risked a look in his direction, no longer needing to hold them up. Thank you magic. Useful. Something flittered across Derek's sour face.

"Magic. Shit! Stiles you belong to the higher council don't you?" His tone was accusatory.

"Uh. Highest Council?"

"And you didn't tell me?" Derek's voice rose. "No, we'll have this conversation out of water. Once that lizard thing is dead."

"Uh. No can do. I already tried. I can't affect it."

"Try again."

Stiles reached for his magic again, and thought of slamming the lizard thing into the concrete wall—nothing.

"I smelled it, but nothing?"

"Nothing." Stiles thought for a moment. "Wait, let me try something."

He concentrated on the various moveable fixtures, and flung them toward the lizard—but this stopped about 10 feet from the creature, suspended mid-trajectory, then flew back to where they had landed. Thankfully he hadn't crushed his own bones ….

Derek said nothing.

Stiles floated there in the water, with Derek not saying anything. Stiles would have to break the silence. Right? As much as he wanted to teleport out of here, he couldn't leave. Something about the lizard creature—he really needed a name for it.

"Talk?" Stiles suggested.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Uh. I didn't think I was supposed to. You know, mention this at all. Drag you into this crazier world."

"So if you are part of the higher council, then what role do you have?"

"Inspector."

"Fuck." Derek couldn't move. "Can you get this toxin out of me?"

Stiles shook his head. "I doubt it. If it can resist what is supposed have no limits, then I don't I can get rid of it. I tried when I was paralyzed myself. Nothing, buddy."

"If you can't even do something … we're fucked."

"There is still Scott."

"Scott is useless," Derek said.

"I have to at least try, you know?"

"Stiles, don't you get it? He's probably with Allison, and won't care one way or another."

"He's my best friend. Hell, a few months ago, he was my _only _friend." Stiles pulled Derek in. "I don't want to fight, Derek. Please don't make me fight."

"Stiles, I … I'm sorry."

"What the hell is going on?" Stiles was on the verge of tears, his voice hitched and raw. "Why are you trying to push me away when all I need is to be close to you?"

"Close? To me?"

He buried his head into Derek's neck. Holding on for comfort rather than to save Derek anymore. "Yes. You are my Concomitant."

"What?"

"You have to feel it too. You know it. I'm your … ugh what was it?"

"Mate," Derek said, soft.

"Mate, yeah. Whoa, wait, so you knew?" Stiles flailed in the water. "And you …? Oh dang. We both knew but didn't know the other knew. How?"

"When you came back for me. Found me after Peter tossed me around." Derek's eyes softened as Stiles looked into them. "Only a mate could find me. But I suppose it could have been magic, now."

"It was magic, but I went because I cared. I couldn't let you be hurt. You're mine as much as I am yours."

"I thought it was too good to be true." Derek sounded resigned. "I knew it was."

"Derek, listen to me." He had to do something quick. "We are meant to be together. You know it, I know it. Don't doubt me please. I can't handle it without you. You know it. You're stronger when I'm around."

"More energetic? Less tired?" Derek smiled, though it was sad.

"Exactly. For me? I have more magic. Like it is trying to crawl out of my skin, but when you are near it just hums, happy you are near."

"Happy?"

"Yes, Derek, just like me. I'm happier when you are around. Even if you are being a total sourwolf dickhead."

Derek sighed. "I kissed Erica today."

"What!?" Stiles brain went blank.

"During training. She leaped up and attacked my mouth. I … I'm sorry."

"So wait, she kissed you. Did you kiss her back?"

"Maybe. For the lesson. I shoved her down and told her never again."

"No one knows, do they?"

"Only you."

Stiles felt the magic beginning to fade. He had perhaps a half hour left and he needed—Scott. If he sent out magic to pull Scott back to—the bestiary was on the keys! He concentrated on his magic and sent a tug to both Allison and Scott to get to the school, to get the bestiary on the keys.

"Derek, I have to let you go."

"Don't! You'll need me to fight off the creature."

"Trust me."

"Trust you?"

Stiles let go and hurried to his phone and frantically called Scott while he moved to the middle of the pool again.

"Scott!"

"Not now Stiles!"

And then … dead line. Fuckity fuck-fuck. At least Scott had the impulse (thank you again magic) to come to the school. Stiles let go of his phone and dove for Derek, again. In moments they were on the surface, gulping air. Stiles had enough magic left to keep them afloat for a while, so now he would rest.

"Don't do that, ever again." Derek looked afraid.

"I could never let you die, willingly." Stiles held on tighter.

"Please tell me you got a hold of Scott."

"Yes. He hung up on me."

"Shit."

"Yeah. I'm running out of magic." Stiles knew any moment he'd be out of magic—out of safety. Then, then they'd be in trouble. He looked around. If he could get to the kick-off boards, then maybe they might have a chance.

"Oh god," Stiles said. Bearing both their weights, Stiles felt his muscle burn and scream again. He pushed himself toward safety and certain death at lizard claws.

Derek was breathing steady, but remained silent. Reaching the kick-off stand, Stiles reached up, but his hand slipped and he had no strength left. "I love you, Derek," he whispered.

Water lapped around his ears and he took a huge breath just before water rushed over his face. He felt himself sinking, sinking low. There was nothing to help him.

Something grabbed at him, and Stiles knew that struggling would only use up his air fast. Then he was flung up and out of the water. Scott faced the creature. Stiles refused to watch, refused to see Scott die. Instead he crawled closer to Derek, hoping his boyfriend was okay.

"Derek?"

"I'm okay. I'm okay."

Stiles collapsed, totally spent. He wanted to weep.

In what seemed moment, the lizard creature ran off, confused by it's reflection in the mirror Scott had broken—after being thrown into it.

Stiles let out a breath, and another, and just breathed. He survived. Derek survived. Scott had come, he'd listened to the magic. Hopefully, the scent had faded, covered by the stronger scent of chlorine.

Scott helped him to his feet, and then helped Derek. The older werewolf seemed to come out of the toxic paralyzation and could walk. His own legs felt rubbery and unsure. He let Scott support him outside. He was cold and wet.

When Derek mentioned that the lizard creature was a kanima, he almost lost it. But realized that they had bigger issues, really. Especially when the name of the creature burst another memory bubble.

He knew the kanima was a weapon of vengeance—mostly against the High Council who had broken the Concord. And could be systematically killed by the kanima. Which was immune to almost all forms of the natural and supernatural. But who had sent the kanima then? Was it after him? What did it want? He'd need to get in contact with Aelfrick.

* * *

"Anything else?" Stiles said. He was reclining against his bed. Tired. So tired. "I'm dying here."

"You are sure it is a kanima?" Aelfrick leaned against Stiles' desk. "The Highest Council hasn't issued any for a long time. They are very dangerous."

"So I gathered." Stiles tapped his head. "Nasty, nasty creature."

"Precisely." The older councilman drummed his fingers on his bicep. "All you have is Derek's word."

"And my description. Which you said is 'very like the creature you say it is.'"

"Indeed." Aelfrick pushed up and paced the room. Again. The man was restless. "There is not much we can do. Killing a kanima is very difficult, to say the least. It can be done, but only as a last resort."

"How?" Stiles sat up. "You know, just in case."

Aelfrick grinned. "I shall not discuss that with you at this time, Mr. Stilinski. But you were correct in bringing it to our attention."

Stiles sighed. "And the other thing?"

"Not a matter right now. Derek knows how to keep secrets."

"Shit, yes. He does." Stiles flopped back on his bed. "Can I ever catch a break?"

"No." Aelfrick frowned. "Not really. In fact you should be on higher alert. The nexus has drawn a kanima here. There is an underlying reason you must find out."

"Oh joy." Stiles rubbed his eyes. "I'm totally done here, are yo—?"

Aelfrick was gone, and Stiles stared at the empty space where the man was. At least there was a way Lizardman could be taken down. If he came to that, he would be ready.

* * *

Notes: Hope you like this update. It's a bit on the short side, but... yeah. I have the rest of the fic mapped out, so I'll be cruising through. BTW I might die of S3 feels. Just sayin.

Yell at me on tumblr: hbrooks01


	24. Warehouse Magic

Derek paced back and forth. Why had Stiles said those things? Why had he sided with Scott, when it was clear that he and Stiles were supposed to be together? Erica and Isaac had recovered enough from the fight. Derek had slashed the kanima's lizardy throat. Perhaps it was dead. Hopefully it was dead. Derek punched at his phone.

-We need to talk. Now. D.

Stiles had something, knew something that he didn't about the new resident were creature, and he needed to know: yesterday. Derek wanted to punch something, someone. Scott had been right all along: Lydia was not the crazy murderous scaly creature. Jackson was their killer and he needed to be stopped at all costs—his own stupid mistake.

-Dealing with Scott and Jackson. He's still alive. S.

-Hurry up. D.

-Trying. S.

Derek paced again.

"Something wrong there, big, bad alpha man?" Erica sidled up to him, gently wrapping her silky fingers around his bicep. "Anything I can help with?"

"Yes."

Her eyes perked up and he smelled desire.

"You can go home. Or I'll punch you there."

Erica snorted. "Someone is a little testy this evening. And you're not the one that had to do the fighting with Scott."

"Leave."

"I'm already on my way out." With that, Erica slammed the door.

Isaac approached him not long after, interrupting his lovely thoughts of strangling Scott McCall.

"Derek?"

"You need to … go occupy yourself elsewhere. Now that you're no longer a suspect, you can start contributing. By buying groceries. And filling up the gas. And running errands."

Isaac raised his eyebrow. "Really?"

Derek threw his keys at Isaac. "Really. List and money is on the rust bucket we call a refrigerator. Now go. Go!"

Isaac took a step back, then rolled his eyes. "Whatever is going on, you need a chill pill dude."

Derek thought about roaring in the beta's face, but that would have been a step too far today. It didn't need to be any shittier than it already had been. Sir Lizard was still running around out there. And Scott and Stiles had it—him. He could already tell something was off

Like the way Gerard didn't flinch when the kanima came close enough to strike him. No, that nasty old fucker was up to something, and he needed to know why. Perhaps Stiles could … no, he needed to rely on himself, not some magical Higher Council bullshit. They would tell him to solve his own damn problems.

As it stood, Boyd was at home, Erica went home, and Isaac was out being domestic. Which meant that Derek had the whole of crappy place to himself. He really needed better digs. His pack gone meant he'd be more vulnerable, but when it came to magic, it was best not to have them around. When it came to Stiles, they would _not_ be around.

So, with nothing much to do, Derek started his workout routine and went through most of the calisthenics twice before his phone buzzed.

-Need anything else? I.

-Yeah, go eat something. I need to be alone. D.

-Lady friend? ;) I.

-… why did I bite you? D.

-Fine, fine, no prying. I.

-is the place clear of sensitive noses? S.

-Yes. D.

-k. S.

Derek barely got the text before black mist and the scent of ozone filled the space right in front of him. He was almost overwhelmed by the strangeness of it. Stiles was standing right before him.

"Stiles, what the hell was that?" Derek tried to keep his voice calm, modulated.

"Magic. Okay fine. What the hell do you think it was? That was me, protecting my friends, like I protected you."

"Jackson needs to die." Derek crossed his arms.

"I wish it were that easy." Stiles ran his fingers through his shaved hair. "But it's not. Your claws didn't do anything. No marks, nothing. Gone. He's got the healing."

Stiles took a step toward him.

"No marks? At all? He was shot with a whole clip and nothing."

"Nothing. I talked to the Highest Council. They said he could be destroyed, but didn't tell me how. I am just as lost as you."

Derek took a step back. "Why did you tell Allison to shoot me?"

Stiles stopped. Frozen. "Because you're being a total jerkface! Going after Lydia like that? Going after Jackson? Derek, we agreed we can't let them know. I just … I wish we could. My dad doesn't even believe me."

"Stiles."

"Derek, we are meant to be together. It doesn't mean we have to be a united front all the time. No matter what, I'll always love you. Even if that means protecting you from harming yourself. You don't need another death on your hands, you don't need to give the hunters a reason to kill you. Do you know how devastated I would be if I had to hear that you'd died?"

"What? What do you mean?" Derek was taken aback by the words. Stiles told the truth. He cared that much.

"I mean, Derek, that if you had killed Lydia today, you or Isaac or Erica? The hunters would be down on you so much faster."

"They already want me dead."

"Don't give them another reason." Stiles took another few steps forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. Derek felt the power thrumming under Stiles' touch. "Don't let them win."

"Stiles. I don't deserve you."

"You're right you don't deserve someone as awesome as me," Stiles whispered into his ear. Breath swirled against the back of his neck. Stiles was so close, so damn close. "But like it or not, you have me."

Suddenly, Stiles was on the old beat-up couch. He smelled the ozone, strong this time and rolled his eyes.

"Show off." Derek moved to the couch, sitting next to Stiles.

"If you can do it, so I can I," Stiles said. "Besides, I'm not done yet. Give yourself time to think, to act. You can't just run in guns blazing all the time Derek. Remember what happened? Kate and the basement? You would have been killed then. You need to start planning things. Like how to get the kanima to not be the kanima anymore. If we can't kill Jackson, we need to figure out how to save him. Or something. Heck you're the one with the forebrain, not me."

"There is a legend, but it's just a legend! It's said that a kanima is a werewolf gone bad, that it can be saved if it know itself. By love."

"Okay," Stiles said, animated. "I can work with this, I can do something about it. If Jackson knows he's the kanima, then … he won't be the kanima anymore."

"And how are you doing to do that?" Derek watched Stiles closely.

"I … we have him locked up right now. I'll question him tomorrow. There has to be something he remembers."

Derek leaned in.

Stiles glanced over to Derek, eyeing him. He smirked and leaned in nibble on Derek's ear. "Apologize, Derek."

Derek closed his eyes. "After you."

Stiles chuckled. "If you want to play that way." A hand spidered up his torso to scrape across his chest. "Sorry for not telling you."

"Sorry for being an asshole," Derek mumbled. He let his head fall back, content.

"You better be." Stiles put two hands on the inside of his jacket at the shoulders, gently pushing. Derek opened his eyes, and shrugged out of the leather. Stiles looked hungry, as hungry as Derek now felt. But still, he hesitated a moment before bringing his hands up and behind Stiles to pull him closer.

Stiles straddled his lap, their foreheads touching. Stiles ran long fingers up and down his chest, the sensation driving him wild. Derek sighed, moving his mouth to Stiles. It had been a while since they'd kissed—anything more than an hour was too long.

He played delicate, biting gently on Stiles' lips, pressing himself forward while crushing Stiles to him. Stiles breathed sharply through his nose; the air tickled. Derek opened his mouth for more, desperate for more, needing more. Stiles gave, the heat between them growing. Sweat dripped down his chest, soaking his shirt, and he felt wetness against his hands where he was pulling Stiles in.

At the thought, his hands roamed, still clutching Stiles to him. One hand danced through the fuzz of Stiles hair, the other gripping sweaty shirt fabric. Stiles moaned and Derek couldn't take much more. He might explode with the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through his body. He opened up more, heat radiating all around him, the smell of ozone thick in the air—as if it was charged with lightning. He pulled Stiles closer to him.

Intense heat filled him, poured into ever fiber of his body. Stiles whimpered, and he could smell Stiles about to come as well—the warehouse shook on its foundation and the windows rattled loudly. Ozone flooded his senses. He saw white as the pleasure expanded to bursting until he came, in his jeans. Breath hitched, Derek could not see anything but white. He could only smell Stiles' heady scent and the distinct smell of magic.

"Derek?" Stiles' voice sounded small and far away. "Derek?"

"Stiles?" Something magic maybe?

"Oh my _god!_ That was amazing, Derek. Derek? Fuck." Derek felt Stiles move backward, but Derek still couldn't see. He wasn't going to think why. "Um. Yeah. Hold on a sec."

Ozone flooded his senses again. He didn't care, he felt so good. Like he'd come home. Light and sound rushed back in. Stiles looked guilty and his heart beat pitter-patter.

"What happened?" Derek tried to crane his neck, uncaring of the mess in his pants.

Hands gripped his head. "Uh, don't look. Yet."

"What magic did you do, Stiles?"

Stiles turned beet red. "Uh. Um. Nothing?"

Derek rolled his eyes and tapped his nose.

"Fine. Accidental lightning discharge."

Derek tried to scramble up, but Stiles was still firmly on his lap. "What!?" This time he turned his head and saw … a gaping hole in the side of the building and char marks on everything.

"I can fix it?"

Derek wilted. "Okay."

Stiles scrunched up his nose, and Derek was hit with more ozone magic. He saw the entire warehouse knit back together under his eyes.

Fingers grabbed at his. "Sorry, Derek."

"Sorry? For what?"

"The damage. For being a total jerk, for I don't know, everything."

Derek smiled and pulled Stiles closer. "Forgiven. As long as you aren't sorry for 'exploding.'"

"Did you … did you as well?"

"Come? Yeah. Like crazy."

Derek felt the brush of lips against his stubble. "Mmm. Good. We'll have to try something a little less … clothed next time."

"You're how old Stiles?"

"I'm old enough."

Derek picked Stiles up and moved him to the cushion next to him. "I just … I don't want you doing anything you don't want to, you know?"

"I get it," Stiles said. His eyes were so beautiful, so vulnerable. "Believe me, I get it. I'm doing nothing I don't want to." He leaned forward. "I love you, Derek."

"I love you too, Stiles. Let's get cleaned up?"

"Mmm." Stiles snuggled closer to Derek. "Not yet."

Derek rested his head on Stiles' hair wrapping an arm around the youth's shoulder. This was unexpected, but a much better result than the yelling he had been prepared to dole out earlier. Hopefully he would be able to solve the kanima problem—sooner rather than later. For now, Stiles this close was all he needed.

* * *

Notes: Aaaaaaah! The season premier last night was AMAZING! OMG. *insert all the feels here*

Keep up with me this season on tumblr hbrooks01


	25. Lizard Sitting and the Nexus

Moonlight shone through the tall trees, lighting the way farther into the preserve. Scott and Allison were on Jackson duty, and Stiles … well, he had to find the central nexus point. And he knew it was somewhere out here in the preserve. He hadn't thought to seek it out until now.

He tried to move stealthily through the undergrowth; he hoped there were no werewolves out here tonight. Stiles concentrated on the feeling of magic thrumming in the ground and followed it, keeping other strings of deep magic positioned in his head.

He came to the river and followed that for a few hundred yards until he came to a large tree and a huge rock. Light spilled down onto shelter between the two. Stiles could feel the power—almost as strong as he felt when near Derek.

Taking a few cautious steps to the exact center between the rock and tree, Stiles tapped into his power, magic bubbling to the surface of his consciousness. The nexus was like dipping himself in lava. But this lava did not burn. Instead he could focus on the strings and rhythms of Beacon Hills, feel all the supernatural in the territory his nexus covered.

Derek and his pack were known. Jackson, he could feel in the preserve, a blemish. He could feel something from Lydia, but he put that aside—probably a remnant of the alpha bite from Peter—and concentrated on anything else. There was something darker going on, but he could not focus on it.

He let his mind float up, higher above the nexus. All quiet. There was something off in the east, something that said danger, but that was not in the area he was responsible for. But it was probably headed this way.

Nothing of immediacy required his attention. He pulled out of the power of the nexus and opened his eyes. Derek was there, watching him.

"What are you doing out here, alone?" the leather-jacket clad man asked. Derek looked unsure of himself.

"Checking the nexus." Stiles put his hands into his hoodie. "Nothing super exciting. Thank goodness."

"Find anything out?" Derek took a few steps forward.

Stiles shook his head. "Nothing I didn't know. There is a kanima—the weird darkness I felt before. I just wish they'd give me a better manual than the memories that only show up when they want."

Derek frowned at that.

"Yeah. You probably have a better idea of what is going on than I do, and yet, I'm the one that has to do all the footwork."

Stiles leaned against the tree. "And Allison and Scott have Jackson duty tonight. Which is great and all, but I have a nasty feeling they are making out and not watching the van like they should be."

"Get any useful information this afternoon?" Derek leaned against the rock, facing him.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles answered, "Nope. Nothing. He has _no_ clue, still thinks he's going to become a werewolf."

Derek watched water flow down the river. "Nothing?"

"Like talking to a stone wall. I even explained everything to him. Must be a fugue state that he goes into to keep himself from remembering. It could be part of the magic of it."

"Ha. Funny Stiles."

"Well, this has been fun, but, uh, what's going on?"

Derek still didn't look him in the eye. "I wanted to talk about last night."

Stiles took a breath before answering. "Okay."

"It wasn't right of me to do that."

"Not what I was expecting," Stiles said. He looked Derek over: his shoulders were hunched, hands buried under his arms; he looked miserable. "Oh my god, Derek. Where the hell did you think the kisses would lead?"

"I don't know!" Derek shouted, finally looking Stiles in the eye. "I just … I shouldn't. You're too young."

"I'm young, yes. I fucking get that. Like I said I'm responsible for a whole hell of a lot now, and therefore I'm entitled to adult things. Like you."

"Stiles—"

"Don't you 'Stiles' me, Derek." He closed the space between them. "You know how much I want you all the time."

Derek opened his mouth, but Stiles grabbed a hold of the leather jacket and pressed him hard against the rock.

"Don't say it, Derek. Do you want to see what I have to deal with?" Stiles searched Derek's eyes. "Do you?"

"No." Derek's eyes remained on his.

"I'll show you anyway. You can hate me later." Stiles pulled the black mists around them both and threw them both up into the air. Better than flying, he'd found out.

Beacon Hills lay under them. Stiles pushed out magic under them to keep them from falling back down and breaking all kinds of bones.

"This is the nexus I have to protect from all sorts of crazy."

"It's my territory too, Stiles. Can we not be up here please?"

Stiles grinned. "Where would you like to be?"

Before Derek could answer, Stiles hurtled them toward the Wisconsin forest he'd gone with Aelfrick. The mists melted around them, and Stiles pointed to the fallen charred tree. It just lay there, untouched for how long?

"That was the first magic I ever did. Lightning, just like my mom."

"Lightning?" Derek looked a little uncertain. "Like last night?"

"Yeah. Uh, you may wanna close your wolfy eyes."

"Why?"

Stiles flailed his hand to the tree. "Repeat performance."

Derek shook his head, but closed his eyes. Stiles did the same, summoning up the energy within, pulled out as much as he possible could and focusing it in a strike like he'd done before, only this time, he wouldn't be thrown back.

Thunder cracked the air, heat and energy pulsed for a moment. Stiles opened his eyes. The tree was even more charred than before. Derek looked … unimpressed.

"What?"

"You don't need to show off for me."

"That wasn't for show, Derek." Stiles leaped up and wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. Instinctively the alpha caught him. "That was to prevent any mishaps this time around."

"That doesn't mean you aren't still too young."

Stiles wrapped his legs tighter around Derek and kissed him hard on the mouth. Derek kept his lips firm and shut, no matter how Stiles tried to pry them open. Still, the charge of magic exploded under his skin. He pulled back, and jumped down. Derek looked lost and broken.

So Stiles punched him, hard, in the chest. "You know that silly claw trick you werewolves use for memory? I can do it better."

Moving faster than Derek, Stiles clutched the back of Derek's neck and pushed memories of his duties, memories of the pain and the burden he had to his Concomitant. Derek's eyes glow red for a moment as he clutched the back of his head and the fell to the forest floor. Stiles gathered his head and put it in his lap. And waited for Derek to stop twitching as the memories flooded his mind. It was perhaps cruel, but … Stiles didn't want to have to fight about the age thing anymore.

Derek stilled after a few minutes then tentatively touched the back of his neck. He glared at Stiles.

He shrugged off the glare, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine."

"Fine, what?" Stiles ran his fingers through Derek's man mane.

Derek didn't move. "Fine. I won't bitch about it anymore."

"I am sensing with my Jedi mind powers a 'but' clause about to happen."

Derek rolled his eyes. "But, I still want to take it slow. This is as much my first time as it is yours."

"Wait, what?" Someone like Derek should have had more experience, right? "What about she-who-shall-not-be-named? After her?"

"With someone I love. With a guy. I don't want to rush it." Derek grabbed hold of his free hand. "I want to savor every moment, every fight, everything. Because you are my everything."

"Oh." Stiles squeezed Derek's hand. "I'm sorry. I just … I want all of you. I don't want anything held back. I want you Derek Hale, all of you: broken, battered, beautiful you. Morning, noon, night. Forever."

Derek said nothing. The forest was so quiet, he heard Derek's heartbeat pounding. "Stiles …."

"I meant it. You know it."

"I …"

Stiles eyes didn't leave Derek's face. "I can't live without you. Not being open? Fine. As long as I get you. All of you, Mister Derek Hale, not just your lips and sass."

"I want you too." Derek closed his eyes. "I want you and it hurts. How can someone love me so much?"

"Because, silly sourwolf, you are lovable. How can you love me?"

"Okay, okay." Derek opened his eyes. "I get it. And I can love you for how strong you are, how you hide everything under your prickly surface. I love you for your eyes, for your crazy stupid face that makes me melt."

"You are positively mushy Derek."

Derek rolled his eyes, then sat up, brushing a few leaves off his jacket. "Can we get back home? Don't you have to lizard sit?"

"Mmm. I'm very tempted to stay here. Just you and me, alone, in the woods, far from prying eyes …."

Derek jumped up, then helped Stiles to his feet. "Come on. We can't stay here forever."

Stiles shook his head. "Not going anywhere until I get my goodnight kiss."

Derek leaned in and pulled Stiles close. He grabbed the leather jacket and held on as Derek mashed their lips together in a passionate kiss. Stiles' knees weakened a bit as he tried to push himself up into Derek. Stiles melted into the kiss, into Derek's strong arms. He lost track of time as he kissed into his love.

What seemed too soon, Derek gentled and eased the kiss until they stood in each other's arms. Derek rested his forehead on Stiles'.

"We have to get back."

"I know. Promise me."

"What?"

Stiles thought a moment. "That you won't bring up the age thing. And that you won't try to push me away anymore."

Derek laid a clawed finger on Stiles' heart. He did the same, laying a finger on Derek's heart, feeling that it was something he was supposed to do.

"I promise, Stiles, that I won't bring up your age again. I promise that I won't push you away again."

"I will hold you to that promise. Even if you think pushing me away is for my protection, I can protect us."

Derek closed his eyes. Was he crying? Stiles reached up to wipe the liquid away with his thumb. "Derek?"

"You don't understand. May I share memories with you?"

Stiles nodded. Derek's claws gently pressed against his skin. Prickling at his neck turned into sharp pain, then memories flooded his mind. Derek dancing with Laura, laughing. Derek in the kitchen with his mother and father. Laura protecting Derek from a school bully in elementary school. His mother and father protecting him from bad hunters. Derek mourning their loss, the words falling from some man's lips, blurred.

Stiles came to, Derek holding him, wiping the worst of the blood away.

"You'll heal quick," Derek said.

Stiles hugged Derek tight, shaking with mixed emotions: fear, love, sadness, hate. They bubbled to the surface and he clutched tight to Derek.

"Not fair," he said. "Let me carry some of the burden for you, please."

Derek stroked his back. "You already do."

After a moment, Stiles said, "Let's go, Derek." He transported them back to the nexus. He held on longer than he should have, longer than was necessary, until Derek sighed.

"I should go."

Stiles let him go, pulling away slowly. He snuck one last kiss. "Goodnight, Derek."

"Goodnight, Stiles."

Derek took off, running fast. Stiles walked back toward where the police van was. The memories of Derek in mind rattled around. They hadn't trigged any of his mother's to come to the surface, and perhaps that was a good thing.

When he came to the ravine where the van was, Stiles noticed something off, though he couldn't tell what it was right away. The back doors were open, the industrial handcuffs ripped from the floor boards.

Jackson had escaped.

Stiles rushed to Allison's car and noticed the lovebirds sleeping. Figures. Well, he wasn't going to sleep so well tonight with Jackson on the loose. He woke them up and showed them the empty van.

"I need to tell my dad," Allison said.

"So do I," Stiles added. "But he won't believe me."

"He'll believe me." Scott's eyes glowed. "We need to go to the station."

Stiles nodded and took off for his Jeep with Scott in tow. Allison clung to Scott a moment before getting back into her car and driving off. This night had been going _so _well.


	26. Seizure

The stupid kanima had attacked again in the preserve. Derek's territory really. And some young couple. Well, at least they wouldn't be in his way. Nor would he have to worry about them anymore. But he knew that the problem would be over … eventually. Though Stiles had said magic didn't work on the creature. He shook his head.

Pacing the length of the warehouse depot, Derek felt lost. Supernatural stuff? been dealing with it for ages. Magic? Totally new to him. The Highest Council was only a name mentioned to inspire terror in those that were supernatural creatures. Like himself. His mother had spoken of them on rare nights when the family would sit in circles and tell stories of the past and of the hopes for the future.

-uh, warehouse. now. emergency w/ erica on our way. S.

-here. what is the problem!? D.

-stiles, tell me. D.

-STILES. D.

Derek took deep breathes and paced the floor faster. There was nothing he could do at the moment, so why did it feel like he was going to lose his new found family again? Sitting on the rotting car's steps, Derek ran his fingers through his hair. He knew that Stiles would save Erica, if he could. He wouldn't let her die, surely, right? Not his new sister, his new pack?

Derek heard Stiles approach, and smelled Scott: which was new(ish). Though the two apparently did hang out and talk all the time. Scott carried Erica in, her body convulsing in what looked like a seizure.

"Bring her in here," Derek said. "What happened?"

"Kanima got her neck," Stiles said. "She's been twitching. Seizure."

Scott laid her down on the floor of the rusted train. Derek took her arm. Erica's eyes pleaded with him to do something. He broke her arm, savagely.

"What are you doing?" Scott yelled. "What the hell?"

"To speed up the healing process," Derek said. "I need to get the venom out."

Erica screamed as he twisted and squeezed blood from her arm.

"Stiles, you make a good batman." Erica stopped twitching, and collapsed back into Stiles. "Thanks Derek."

She was out.

"Tell me what happened," he said, looking from Stiles to Scott. "Stiles? Scott?"

"Stay with Erica, Stiles," Scott said. "I'll tell you."

Derek wiped his hands clean of blood and then led Scott to the chest. He might as well sit well enough away—but he wanted to keep an eye and ear toward Stiles and Erica. In case something happened.

"Well?" Derek prompted.

"Why was Erica following us around all day? I saw her every where Derek. You trying to confirm it was Jackson or something? What are you playing at?"

"Playing, Scott? You think this is a game? This is not some silly childhood game. People are dying and I'm trying to stop it from happening again. What is your problem Scott?"

"Fine. Whatever."

"Tell me what happened."

"Jackson attacked us, in the library. He got Matt and Erica. Whoever is controlling him knows we are on the trail. He wrote: stop, or I'll kill you all. Or something. The meaning was clear, Derek."

He exhaled sharply. So, time was running out then. And whoever was controlling the kanima knew exactly what was going on. Well, fuckity fuck fuck. So he need to move on, needed to do something. And Stiles couldn't get anything or do anything for all that the Highest Council has powers.

"I'll help, Derek."

"Oh?" He raised one eyebrow. "Volunteering for something Scott? Are you finally getting that this isn't a lacrosse game?"

Scott set his jaw in defiance. Seriously, why did he have to deal with such a jerk. "I'll do it on one condition. Join your pack, hunt jackson. But we catch him. Don't kill him."

Derek snorted. Of course. Save the murderer. Not that they could really kill him from what Stiles had mentioned. "And?"

"And we do it my way." Scott crossed his arms.

"Of course, we do we ever do anything Derek's way? Oh wait, we don't. I hope this involves something good. Do you have a plan right now?"

"No. Not really. There is a rave this weekend. If Jackson goes, we know we can catch him there."

"Inviting me to a party, Scott, thanks. How, exactly are we going to catch this kanima, when every effort so far has resulted in nothing."

Scott shrugged. "Yeah. But we can go to Deaton. My boss. He knows about our kind. He can help us out."

Well, better than fumbling on their own. "Wow, Scott, something good came from the wool between your ears. Are you sure he's going to help?"

"He will, Derek. God. If we save Jackson, he'll help us out."

"Well, we certainly need help with the indestructible beast from hell."

Scott rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. We done here? I need to make sure Erica is fine."

Scott nodded and moved to sit on the steps. Derek worked some of the tension from his muscles, and if it intimidated Scott, well that was an added bonus. Derek peered into the train. Erica was breathing fine, though she was still out. She smelled fine—which was a good thing.

"She okay?" he whispered to Stiles.

Stiles nodded, then inclined his head toward Scott.

Derek rolled his eyes. "We've come to an agreement."

"Okay." Stiles still held on to Erica; her head rested in his lap. "She'll be okay?"

"Yeah." Derek lifted Erica up. "Go on, I'll make sure she's okay. She's pack."

Stiles nodded, like he understand. "You take care of her. Even if she's a royal pain in the ass that you sicked on us." He lowered his voice. "Though I know she's your sister now."

Derek inclined his head toward the door. "Go on, Stiles."

Stiles looked over to Scott on his phone. Derek knew exactly what was going to happen. Stiles kissed hims briefly on the cheek—not what he was completely expecting—and jostled with Scott up the stairs. Derek took Erica to his bed and laid her down. Her arm had healed up, but she was still out. He wondered what caused the bad reaction this time. Was it because she had been exposed before to the toxin? He check her for fever, or for anything but she was okay. Tucking her in, he decided to work out some of his frustration. Scott was hiding something from him—something important, and he didn't know what it was, but he knew it wouldn't be a good thing.

* * *

Apologies for the crap chapter :( I had a shitty week and couldn't write to much. Hopefully the others will be better 3


	27. Mountain Ash, Raves, and a Meltdown

Stiles parked a block away from Scott's place and rolled down his window vigorously.

"Yo, buddy. Get you're wolfy ass out here." He tapped on the steering wheel for a couple minutes until he saw Scott leap out his open window. Stiles shook his head. So much cooler than levitation. More raw and physical.

He turned his thoughts from werewolfiness and toward the churning in his stomach. His dad no longer a sheriff in Beacon Hills was the worst news he'd received this year. Hands down. Would they have to move? His dad had said they would be okay. Stiles tried to brush the feelings aside and focus, but … he couldn't.

Scott tapped on the side of the car door. Damn that stupid speed he could only match with magic. Couldn't he have another minute alone? Apparently not.

"Hey Stiles, so … I don' t think I told what happened at school today."

Stiles made an affirmative noise and set the Jeep in gear and drove off down toward the warehouse district. The drive had become all too familiar.

"So, I was in the lab with her—we go sometimes to meet up where her mom and Gerard can't see us—and I don't know. I was talking about the pencil thing."

Stiles groaned. Horrible woman Mrs. Argent.

"Allison was like not getting it and everything and I may have mentioned that we should see other people."

"And?" Stiles said.

"She told me she was going to some thing with Matt. Creeper Matt who you don't like it. Whatever. I just can't believe that she agreed to it. The worse part?"

Scott waved his arms around. Stiles glanced over before staring at the road again. Poor guy.

"The worst part is, I said 'I love you,' and she said, 'me too.' Me too! What kind of person says me too? It's like she didn't mean it. And after a big kiss thing!"

Stiles shrugged and pulled into the place where the rave would take place. Going to a rave with no boyfriend, no drugs. Was he even going to make it in? He felt shittier than normal.

Stiles got out and opened the back of the Jeep.

"You okay Stiles? You didn't say anything the whole way here."

"Yeah. I'm fine. Grab a bag, help me out."

Scott backed away. "No dude. That is your job. Deaton said you had to do it."

"Scott!" Stiles threw down a second bag as Scott dashed off. Great. Left with trash bags of magic dust and stupid feelings of uselessness and guilt. Why did that _have _to happen today? And why oh why had been stealing the van an idea at all?

"Fine. I guess I'll just do it. Believe or something."

He took the bags out and slung one over his shoulder and, using a switchblade Derek insisted he carried, cut a small hole in the corner and began walking around the huge building. How in the world would two bags of dust go around the whole building? His magic would have been much easier, but he avoided using it now.

Everyone had already gone inside, leaving him out here alone. He moved quickly around the building seeing no one else in the area. Soon, he was back to his Jeep with just a handful of the mountain ash dust left. He tried Scott, not even remembering what he'd said. After a few tries, Stiles gave up. If this was anything like his regular magic, then he should be able to get this done, right?

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let the smallest trickle of power filter in to the dust as he walked and moved to the point where he began. As the last dust fell from his hand, he looked down. The circle around the building was complete.

Stiles heaved a sigh of relief. Magic worked out again, not a single pang in sight. Finally. Finally some ancient mojo worked.

Rushing in, he gave the attendant his ticket and used a minute amount of power to locate the attack squad of Erica and Isaac. Hopefully modern medicine would work better than magic against the kanima.

* * *

Stiles sat with his back to the brick wall. Scott was on the table, still unconscious. Deaton had done all he could to ensure that he'd heal. Derek looked crushed, liked he'd lost another family member—even though Deaton said he'd make it through. Wolfsbane treatment was an ugly business. Deaton went out to the front to take care of something, and Stiles reached for Derek's hand.

"Scott'll be okay, Derek."

"I know." He squeezed his hand once, and let it go. "You should go home."

"I can't leave you here alone with Scott."

"Your dad will be worried."

"Maybe." Stiles looked up. "Derek, please. If I am going to go home, you better go with me. Who knows if Jackson will show up? I can't do much against him."

Derek sighed. "Fine."

"Scott has all this mountain ash here to protect him against stuff. He'll be fine."

Derek stood up and offered his hand to Stiles.

"Alright."

Stiles rose up with Derek's help. Deaton looked up from a few files.

"He'll be fine," the vet said. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Stiles nodded.

On the short drive back to his house, Stiles said little. Derek remained quiet as well, staring out the window. It was quiet and dark, his dad's car in the parking spot. No lights were on in the house. Stiles closed his eyes and extended his senses into the building. His dad was sleeping—fitfully.

Stiles opened the door to the Jeep and shut it quietly, moving silently to the door to let himself in. Derek followed, glancing around. Stiles shut and locked the door and then crept up the stairs, Derek right behind him.

Once in his room, Stiles shut the door, silently, and took off his shoes. Derek leaned against the door.

"Would you stay the night with me, please?"

Derek opened his mouth, bur Stiles was right there, and kissed him. Derek resisted at first, pushing him away, but Stiles pushed himself closer to Derek, pressing his body against the rigid musculature of the alpha werewolf.

"Stiles." Derek gasped for breath. "No."

Stiles leaned back, his hands still on Derek's waist. "What?"

"I'm not in the mood, right now. Not with Scott injured, not with Boyd hurting as well. Erica is still healing."

Stiles let his arms fall to his sides. He tried to keep his face blank, but probably failed at keeping the disappointment from it.

"Okay." He trudged to the bed and sat down, taking off his clothes. He threw them into the basket, with more force than necessary.

"Stiles," Derek said.

He didn't look up, but he could feel Derek watching him, feel him standing a few feet away. Instead he continued to undress until he was in his underwear and then he crawled into bed.

"Stiles," Derek said again.

He turned away, though he could feel Derek sit on the bed. "What?"

"You've been off. What happened with your dad?"

Stiles shot up straight. "What are you talking about?"

"He doesn't have the cruiser. His heartbeat is also different. I'm not a complete idiot, Stiles."

"It's all my fault he got fired from the force." He turned his back to Derek and stared out the window. "Stealing the van to capture Jackson. It didn't even hold him."

Stiles remained facing away from Derek, though he could feel the older man move closer.

"Is that why …?"

"I wanted to forget. To feel better. I always feel better when we kiss. I wanted to feel like I wasn't worthless." Stiles crushed his pillow to his chest. He refused to cry.

"You're not worthless." A warm hand touched his hip.

"Derek, please just …"

The hand stopped, hovered. Stiles could still feel the heat radiating off it.

"Will you stay here?" Stiles said. "I can't be along right now. I just can't."

"Scott, Boyd, and Erica are my responsibility."

Stiles opened his magic, fully. It burned his veins and screamed for him to stop stop stop, but he continued and shoved it forth to keep his best friend and new pack alive. His veins burned, burned as if the sun itself had started fusion inside him. He rolled into a ball and began sobbing. Strong hands held him tight and darkness took over his blurred vision.

* * *

NOTES: I'm super sorry for the FOREVER update. I got sick, then I went to a wedding, then I went on a roadtrip. The good news? I'll be writing more. I've got some mojo back. Woohoo! I hope you like this chapter. It's a bit short and quick, but, I think it works.


	28. Full Moons Bite

Late afternoon and his betas were milling around, doing a few last minute things before the shit hit the fan and the full moon made them all crazy. So, Derek found himself with a fully charged phone, and not much to do but think. And text Stiles.

He'd taken only a small, small portion of the pain from Stiles the other night and … he'd almost passed out from the sheer burning sensation. There was no way Stiles hadn't done that on purpose. So, magic had a price, a high price, to pay. Derek knew that now. No more allowing Stiles to do that to himself. No, to even think of doing that.

-hey. D.

-hey. S.

-you okay? D.

-i dont wanna talk about it. S.

-… okay. D.

-not okay. stiles! Please don't do that again. It hurt. D.

-hurt? S.

-Uh, yeah. I can take some pain. ww stuff. D.

-oh. oh. um. probably shouldn't have done that. it's for breaking the concord. S.

-the what? D.

-the giant magical law book in the sky. S.

-uh. okay? D.

-go with it. if I can avoid using it, I will. had to keep from doing too much a lot because of it. otherwise it'd be magic central for sure. S.

-stiles, just promise you'll be careful. D.

-okay. I'll be careful. S.

-…. D.

-okay okay, fine I promise to be careful. S.

-thanks. D.

-gotta get ready for lydia's bday bash. want to go? S.

-uh. full moon. D.

-taking care of the babies? lol. S.

-… if you want to call them that, then sure. D.

-fine, fine, fine. S.

-text me if you need anything, okay? D.

-don't worry big guy. scott'll be with me. S.

-yeah, lots of help there. D.

-okay, text you later. S.

-okay. D.

Derek looked up from his phone, noting the lingering sun setting. So the full moon would be up soon and he would have three crazy betas on his hand. Well, not that it really mattered. The restraints he'd taken from the house would be useful, but he wasn't sure. They weren't made for fully grown werewolves; they were made for young born werewolves.

And that was what scared him. He was pretty sure as an alpha he could take three at once, but … his life was at stake and with a kanima out on the loose? Not a good situation to be worried about. Betas this out of control often wanted the power of an alpha.

He sent Scott a text, though he knew the answer he'd get. If Stiles was going to a party with Scott, and it was Lydia's party, then Allison would be there. And if Allison was there, Scott would stay there. But it was worth a try.

Derek stood up and inspected the rotting out train. The supports inside would be able hold a werewolf for a few hours maybe. The steel poles were sturdy. He started setting up the restraints.

Erica, Boyd, and Isaac wandered down. Probably feeling the pull of the moon. Derek could feel the stirring under his skin, like an itching. All his anchoring systems kicked into place and the itching stopped. Having control for years and years meant it was less thought and more automatic. Not so for the betas who gathered around him.

It took only a few minutes to get them situated and locked down—though perhaps Boyd glared at him for ignoring Erica's screams of pain. Derek went on autopilot putting the restraints into place.

When he felt the cresting of the full moon's power, he knew it was a strong one. In moments, his betas were free and (of course) Scott didn't answer his phone when he was need. No surprise there.

When Isaac rushed him, Derek went into instinct mode to protect himself. He paid only minor attention to not killing the betas. He ignored the cuts that littered his skin and the torn shirt he wore. In moments, Derek had Boyd and Erica subdued, and Isaac had found an anchor.

"What is your anchor?" Derek asked. Boyd and Erica were still restless.

"My father." Isaac said little more in explanation.

Derek wouldn't press the issue, not really, but he asked why, and Isaac mentioned that he hadn't always been abusive.

"Do you still want me to lock you up?" He continued with the cuffs.

Isaac nodded. "I'm sure."

Derek nodded. He heard something, quiet. He finished up with Isaac and stepped outside of the train. Lydia was standing there, looking a little spaced out.

"What are you doing here?"

She tilted her head to the side and lifted up her hand. Derek stared at her. She did not look like herself.

Suddenly the stench of wolfsbane filled his senses as Lydia blew fine powder into his face and he felt the poison slam into his weakened system. Great.

_Derek was having the strangest dream. If it really was a dream, but real life couldn't be this weird right?_

_How strange was it that Lydia, of all people, was in his home, fine, hideout. A train depot place wasn't really a home, not like a house or an apartment or a tree for a bird. But it was still where he lived and how had she found him anyway? It's not like she'd been there before, but maybe Scott told her?_

_Or maybe something else._

_It didn't exactly matter much. She was dragging him. He chuckled a little bit at his imagination. If anyone should be manhandling him, it should be his boyfriend, Stiles, not Stiles' one-time crush._

_Soon, he felt like he was in a car. Why would Lydia drive him somewhere? He wondered if Stiles had asked her to bring him to the party. It was supposed to be a birthday party right? But he had to take care of his betas and make sure they weren't going to do anything stupid._

_Trees surrounded him. He recognized the burnt scent in the distance. Why was he in the forest near his house when the hunters, especially Gerard, would know to look for him there first and foremost? And why in the world was Lydia with him? He could sense something off. Why did she smell like Peter?_

_"You don't know what you are doing." He had no idea what he was saying. Was peter trying to come back? But that was just a legend, wasn't it?_

_"Lydia."_

_She said nothing, but he knew something. This wasn't a dream was it? But could it be anything other than a dream? The floorboards had been split and he could smell Peter—he was in the house again. The full moon felt so strong, like he could almost touch it. There was something wrong with him. He couldn't access the power like he normally could._

_He felt something move his arm, something cold and dead grasp it. Peter? And claws! The pain! He struggled to open his eyes but he couldn't see anything couldn't smell felt the power slip from his mind body and then it turned light, too light? Was he dead? He heard Uncle Peter saying something about a party …._

_There was an awful awful sound and he struggled to find it. Struggled…_

Deaton was kneeling before him. Derek shook his head, though it felt stuffed with wool. He felt groggy and discombobulated. It hadn't been a dream, he was in the burned carcass of his old home, the floorboard disturbed.

"Yes, Peter is back, but we have more things to worry about than him at the moment. You are going to be weak for the next couple hours and … if I know Gerard, he has a plan that is going exactly as he wants."

* * *

Notes: Oops! Sorry for the long time between posts again. *sobs* I know it's short! But yeah, I've only got a couple more chapters of S2 to go through before I can hit the non-canon chapters and get some crazy fun in. 3


	29. Nightmare at the Station

"Trust … trust Scott!" Stiles said.

"Scott I trust." The former sheriff looked over to Scott. Well, if this could play into his favor ….

"You take Scott, I'll follow you to the station."

"Alright. Come on Scott. You'll tell me more as we go. Stiles, you had better be following me there."

His father and Scott strode down the stairs, but before he could so much as grab his phone, black mists coagulated into Aelfrick. Perfect timing. Maybe with some help, actually, but highly doubtful.

"I was wondering when you'd show up. Matt is the killer. I knew it."

"And hello to you as well, Stiles." Aelfrick wore those same white robes with red slashes. Official visit then. "Congratulations on learning the identity of the kanima master."

"I wouldn't say he's quite a master at it."

"Does the kanima kill as directed? Then he is sufficient as a the master."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Aelfrick smiled. "Not the tone I was hoping for, but a proper greeting nonetheless. I'm here to help, as always. The council has appointed me as your liaison."

"You mentioned that before."

"Oh, well." Aelfrick frowned. "I suppose I have. Too many other memories in my head. Anyway, tell me about this Matt."

"I'd love to, you know, but I'm just about to get him convicted, well maybe, of murder, so if we can make this short?"

"Ah, your father is on his way to the station. Freeze time."

"Oh." Stiles touched the magic under his skin and poured it out to freeze time. He felt himself slow down, like he was weighted with unimaginable pressures. "This is not fun."

"Now you know why we rarely do it. But you've progressed well enough to hold the burden for long enough.

"Yeah, yeah."

"Magic is not the solution to this. Events should play out as determined by action. Know that you and your concomitant will be safe for this … if you play along. The Seer asked me to deliver a message for her. 'Watch the shimmer, know the glimmer leads to certain death. Wolves and weres, humans not fair. Drown, drown, drown.' Vague, yes, I know. She tends to be."

"That's super helpful. Like totally the helpfulest." Stiles grunted under the increased pressure of holding time at bay.

Aelfrick chuckled. "Keep it in mind. Magic may not be the answer tonight, but keep it ready. Oh, and one more thing. Do a cleansing tonight. It is your duty."

"Very well."

Aelfrick smiled and disappeared in black mists. Stiles let go of the magic and took a huge breath. He ran down the stairs, phone and keys in hand. Lydia's party had certainly been something else, and here they were, about to take Matt down.

-heading to the station with daddy-o and the scott. S.

-we have the identity of the kanima master. S.

-Derek? S.

-you must still be busy with the babies. txt when you can xoxo. S.

Stiles arrived moments after his dad and Scott pulled into the station and followed them in. Nancy was on night duty. The same one as when he and Derek came to free Isaac, what?, a scant month ago? He liked Nancy up until Derek decided to flirt with her. But that was in the past.

His dad was talking to her and so he spoke in low tones to Scott. It wasn't long before they were in the Sheriff's office—though he was still out on leave. Hopefully not forever. Stiles couldn't handle that.

Stiles wasn't paying much attention until Scott, thinking that his mother had arrive to identify Matt, came back, but with Matt himself in tow. With a gun. Great. Just what he needed. A crazy man with a kanima _and_ a gun. As if one or the other wasn't bad enough. What was it with the crazies in the town? And of course, magic wouldn't work on Crazy Matt. Thanks, Jackson.

"Take out your cell phones and put them on the desk. Now. Don't be a hero like McCall trying to pocket call."

Stiles slide out his phone and laid it with the others on the desk. Thank god he'd already texted Derek. Hopefully, Derek would make it to meet them there. Otherwise …. He didn't want to think about that option.

"Is that your mom, McCall?" Matt said. "Let's all go greet her."

When the door opened, revealing Derek, Stiles let out a breath.

"Thank god you're here," Scott said. As Derek fell to the floor.

None other than Jackson stood behind him. Stiles should have known the kanima would be nearby, but had hoped for better. Though Derek was no master at stealth.

Stiles moved to help Derek only to feel the back of his neck split with Jackson's sharp claws. Oh great. He fell on top of Derek.

"How's it feel, to be a big bad werewolf taken down with just a little paralytic toxin?" Matt said. "Must be terrible."

"Come down here, and say that to my face," Derek said. "I've still got teeth."

"Yeah, bitch," Stiles volunteered. Though it could have been muffled into the massive chest below him.

"Get him off of me," Derek growled.

"No, I think you too make an adorable couple."

"Now, McCall," Matt began.

Stiles tuned out most of what Matt said, instead, concentrating on the magic in his veins. It seemed to be mostly subdued. He couldn't do much with it, perhaps the toxin made magic less effective? Because it came from the kanima. Great.

Suddenly, he was on his back, a boot to his throat, and he couldn't breath properly. "Scott!" he tried to say.

"Okay, okay, I'll do it!"

"That's better McCall."

Stiles sucked in air.

"I want to know what this means." Matt lifted his shirt, revealing kanima scales. Oh how fun.

Then he heard footsteps move off. That probably meant that Ms McCall was here. Oh god.

"Stiles, you okay?" Derek's voice was low.

He coughed a few times for effect. "I think I'll be okay."

"Any, uh, 'solutions' to this problem?"

"If by solutions, you mean magic, then no. I can barely feel anything and that's probably because I'm right next to you. Otherwise, I doubt I'd feel anything at all."

"Me?"

"Didn't I mention it before?"

"Probably." Derek grunted. "Well, hypothetically, if I trigger the healing process, I should be able to get up."

"Trigger the—?" Stiles looked as far as he could. "Oh gross."

"Don't deal well with blood?"

"Nope, not at all." Stiles averted his eyes from the offending bodily fluid.

"Not a good idea to date a werewolf then, if a little blood scares you."

Stiles chuckled. "And you probably shouldn't be dating a mouthy teen."

"Enough said."

Stiles thought a moment. "That book won't help him, will it."

"No. I doubt it. You can't just break the rules and expect no consequences."

"As I've experienced," Stiles said. That had hurt like fuck. "Though, I've probably got the best deal from the Concord than anyone else. I just get lava veins and lots of pain. Hooray. You know, this whole paralyzed thing is overrated. I need my hands to talk!"

There was probably a sassy eye roll from Derek on that account. "We're possibly going to be killed by a monster lizard who doubles as a kanima on his off hours."

"Oh, very funny, Derek. And yes, we have bigger problems, which, I'd like to not focus on while paralyzed. The less I can move, the more I might panic, and panicking is not an option at the moment, thank you very much."

"Never mind then. Continue on."

"So, uh … is that hypothetical situation getting any less hypothetical?"

"I can move my toes," Derek said. He did have a sexy voice.

Stiles tried to move his, and the wiggled. "Dude, so can I."

"Fuck."

"Wait, I think I can help out. I might be able push some magic through the toxin and help get you on you're feet sooner."

"Try it. Anything to help."

"Better you than me up. I can't do much. You have claws."

"Stiles, shut up and do something."

He clamped his teeth shut and concentrated on the small burning under his skin. The feeling was stronger than before. He pulled out as much of the magic as he possibly could and channeled it at Derek to help the werewolf heal. Claws and fangs to fight crazy lizards and a man with a gun. It was agonizingly slow, but Stiles felt the toxin and the healing process warring within Derek and so Stiles bolstered the healing, as the toxin slipped around the magic.

Derek moved a little bit and suddenly, Stiles felt the turn of the healing to eliminate the toxin. Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek on his feet.

"Get him, kill Matt if you have to. Protect my dad."

"I will, Stiles. When you can move, get to safety."

"Okay." Stiles looked up. "Go!"

Derek shook his head and took off. Werewolves.

Stiles struggled with intense boredom and kept trying to move until he could roll over. Then He began to crawl toward the sounds. His dad was most likely in the jail room of the station. He'd been to the station so many times that he could tell where sounds came from anywhere. And Derek had run this way as well.

He heard triumphant shouting and a loud clonk noise and a thud. He heard a growl, and assumed it was Scott. Or Derek. It was hard to tell.

He got close enough to see from the corridor: his father unconscious on the ground. Or dead, but there was no blood, so unconscious it was. And Ms McCall was terrified in the back of one of the cells.

He backed away, unable to trust himself to not do something stupid. His mind went blank and he barely felt someone pick him up and carry him out of the building. It wasn't Derek, so it must have been Scott. He found himself propped up in his Jeep.

Stiles was numb inside, from more than just the kanima juice. He couldn't seem to feel anything at all ….

* * *

Notes: Sorry it took 82 years to get this chapter out :((


	30. The Plan

"Well," Derek said. "That was a most touching little story about human love."

Peter shrugged. "I said I was here to help out. You don't have to believe me."

"Good."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I told you, I'm not up to fighting shape. As if throwing me around the foyer wasn't enough of an answer to that."

If Peter was right, Derek would have to take that into account. The kanima had no weaknesses that he was aware of, but perhaps the whole Lydia thing could help. If Jackson couldn't be killed in the traditional manner, then he might be able to be killed and transitioned to a full werewolf.

"It was plenty answer enough." Derek turned away from Peter. "I think I have a plan."

"My dearest nephew plotting? Tell me what this plan is."

"If I know Scott at all, he'll want to save Jackson no matter what. He won't know the plan. And since you want to save him as well …."

Peter laughed. "I could have told you that."

"So we need to come up with a way to get him happy and still do what we need to do. We need to get Jackson in a position where I can come at him from the front and you can attack from the back, effectively severing him. It works with werewolves, so it should with a lizard."

"Well, you'll have to do the brunt work of attacking."

"I know. You'll come along and when the opportunity is right, we attack together. If we are lucky, something will happen tonight."

Peter shook his head. "Let's hope."

Derek stepped outside, for better cell phone reception, leaving Peter to do … whatever.

-stiles? you think you could do me a big favor? D.

-stiles? D.

-okay, I hope you get this. I need to you to help me out. Can you get Lydia? We need her to help with WW problems aka kanima. D.

-oh, fuck you have a game tonight. are you playing? D.

-good luck in the game tonight. wish I life was normal enough that I could go and watch you play. D.

Derek looked up at the sky. Low clouds scudded across the dark canvas. He sent a text to Scott, instead of being creepy and sending even more to Stiles. Though his boyfriend knew more about the kanima than Scott, Stiles still followed Scott more often than he led. And besides, he did need to have a talk with Scott anyway—to at least let him know that Peter was alive.

Derek heard Peter come out onto the porch. The fourth outside floorboard had been creaky for years.

"Are you ready?" he said.

Peter breathed deeply. "I suppose."

"Get in the car. We'll be going to the school. The game should be over, and Scott will still be at the school. Hopefully with Isaac."

"Worried about your betas?"

Derek pressed the unlock button and looked up to the sky again. Something was wrong, something stirred in him. Two betas gone, and something …. He felt a strong punch to his face, and almost staggered back from the unexpected force.

A wash of anger and frustration filled him from somewhere else.

Was this something to do with Stiles? Was this the magic bond?

Derek shook his head. If Stiles was in danger …? But he was in a lacrosse game. Though this hadn't happened so strong before, perhaps he was actually playing on the field.

"First things, though." Derek strode to the car, gave a withering look to Peter when his uncle tried to change the music, and drove off to the high school. Hopefully tonight would help them be rid of one problem.


	31. Cleaning the Nexus

Stiles recoiled on the floor. Gerard leered down at him.

"How's that for 'what 90?' Hope you like your stay here." That smile was beyond creepy. He watched Gerard until the basement door was shut and he was alone with Erica and Boyd.

Stiles had tried a little bit of magic on the old psycho, but it didn't work. Exactly as it hadn't on Matt. Had Scott mentioned Gerard being the new kanima master? That would explain the lack of magic working.

Stiles scrambled up. Erica and Boyd looked at him, pleading for something.

"I don't think I can do much to help you out."

Stiles began to look at the equipment near the two betas.

The door opened again and a big thug came down. The Argents really knew how to pick their henchmen.

"You. Scrawny. You're coming with me."

"Me? I think Erica is scrawnier than me."

"Mouthy will get you a pretty bruise on the other side of your face."

"Me shutting up." Stiles mimicked zipping his lips.

The man threw him over one shoulder and before he knew it, he was being deposited in the street. The man stood there until he started walking off. So, he'd have to get back to his car and drive it home. Unless his dad had already taken it home. Only one way to find out.

He waited until he was in a dark patch on the suburban street and shifted with the black mists until he was back at the school. Everything was dark and he could feel the silence blanketing the school.

His Jeep was still in the lot, so he must have left it there. Did the sheriff have an ABP out on him? Most likely. Well, that didn't leave a lot of maneuvering room for him.

But he wanted to check the Jeep out before he went off on any magical adventures to home. His phone was laying right on the passenger seat, thankfully upside down. Perhaps his dad hadn't been thorough. Though that could only mean that something else had happened to kick in Officer of the Law instincts that overrode My Family is in Danger instincts.

He had several missed calls from Scott and Derek. And a ton of texts from both of those two. He pocketed the device after reading the copious amounts of text and listening to the voicemails. Well, it was clear that Lydia would need to be corralled and that Jackson was somehow in stasis. Well, first things first: he needed to get the nexus cleaned up. If he did, Jackson could be saved and they would be free from kanima tyranny. Hopefully. If he didn't … well that would spell disaster.

-derek, im alright. need to clean the nexus so that we can make sure jackson can be taken out. no time to talk. any updates? S.

-stiles, wtf happened? D.

-is there any change in the plans? S.

-jackson is covered in ooze and he'll transform if we don't do something. D.

-okay. keep to the plan. I'll get lydia where we need her. S.

-talk to me. D.

Stiles ignored the phone when it rang, leaving it on the passenger seat. He took one step and the forest melted into existence around him, the nexus plain before his eyes.

Closing his eyes, he walked until he was standing in the middle of all the energy patterns surrounding Beacon Hills. He carefully plucked each cord of energy, each river of power. He could feel the disturbances and imbalances in the energy and drew them forth to himself, following the memories of his mother performing this very ritual many times before.

He drew the darkest of the energies, and let them pour into him passing his magic through them to eliminate the particulars that did not belong in the pattern or in the energy grid around the town. He felt light headed and dizzy, but the magically energy of the beacon needed to be clean in order for the plan to be effective. Any imbalances in the nexus could potentially kill Jackson, or worse prevent him from becoming a werewolf. A permanent kanima was not something Stiles really wanted hanging around.

It took a full hour to have the nexus and surround currents clean and free from imbalances and disturbances. He felt a sense of peace and quiet surround him as he stepped from the center of the nexus. Vertigo took over at the second step and he promptly puked black goo. Great.

He vomited black goo a second time. When he stood up he felt better and wiped his mouth. Perhaps that was all the bad energy? The disturbances? Hopefully not something more serious. He scanned his memories and similar experiences from the nexus came from his mom.

Stiles took a deep breath and moved through the black mist back to his car. In moments, he was on the road back home.

Now, to get Lydia to come to his house ….

* * *

NOTES: Two updates back to back!? Hooray! I'm hoping to get the next chapter up and out by Saturday :)


	32. New Arrivals And Thunder

Derek watched the trees sway in the light breeze, the smell of ash filling his nostrils. Peter had left the old house, and Isaac was around … somewhere. Derek sat on the porch staring out into the preserve.

They had arrived too soon.

And he didn't know what they were in town for. He hadn't seen or heard anything relating to them in years. The symbol meant there were here for him or for someone having to do with the Hales. He could only speculate.

Now that Peter was gone—wherever he went off to—Derek had no clue why the alpha pack had chosen him for whatever it was they'd chosen him for. It seemed unlikely that they would want him in their elite pack, but … it might be possible. He was the only alpha around—but he wouldn't join them. Not with what rumors he'd heard while on the run so many years ago.

The wind changed and the leaves rustled against each other, green flashes in the late afternoon. It almost felt too perfect, too beautiful to be the beginning of summer. He closed his eyes, to listen to the surrounding forest, to revel in nature and forget the problems he had. He wanted to run in wolf form, but with the alpha pack around …? Too dangerous.

Picking up a few pebbles strewn about his feet, he tossed several into the woods. Therapeutic. Anything to get his mind off the inevitable disaster facing him.

When he threw the last of the small rocks, he walked out back to the graves of his family—the ones he'd been able to find and bury. He checked the bushes he'd planted there, what, just a few months ago? They were growing well and healthy. At least there was that.

"Mom," he said. "They are back. He's still mad from what I hear, lusting after power. Tell me what to do."

The leaves twinkled but remained silent. It wouldn't help, he knew, but he always felt better talking to her.

Footsteps alerted him to someone nearby. The breeze was in the wrong direction for him to get a good identifier, but the steps sounded like Stiles. He remained where he was, crouched near the blueberry bush, running his fingers gently along the leaves, as if he could touch her still.

"Hey." Stiles' voice was small and soft, just barely enough for him to hear.

"Stiles." Derek didn't look over. He didn't want to see Stiles, didn't want Stiles to see him like this.

Footsteps drew close and clothing crinkled next to him. He could feel the heat from Stiles. Derek wanted so much to be alone, wanted to be here with his family and his memories. Why did he love the jerk so much? Why did he put up with the pain?

"I'm sorry."

Stiles' hand came into view, plucking weeds from the ground and tossing them aside. Derek breathed, ignoring the impulse to draw his finger along the veins spidering that hand. Instead, he sat down, and pretended his mother stood before him, strong and powerful—like she had been the last time werewolves had been in town. Perhaps he could draw from her quiet confidence. Perhaps he could one day make her proud.

"I'm sorry."

"I heard." Derek dropped his hand and stared at the bush. "Tell me why."

"I just couldn't. I needed to get everything in motion."

"You were kidnapped and beaten."

"By a seasoned werewolf hunter. Who happened to have a huge vendetta against all werewolves and wanted them all dead—and wanted to become one."

"You were trying to protect me, though I need to protect you."

Stiles sighed. "If needed, I could have gotten out of there faster than I did. I didn't want Gerard knowing who I was, and I figured these weren't for me."

Derek said nothing, still looking at the bush.

"Derek. What was I supposed to do? Let you come find me and end up unleashing a worse monster out on Beacon Hills?"

"You were supposed to answer the phone."

"Time was short enough as it was, Derek. If we were normal? I would have called you. But we aren't. You're an alpha werewolf, with a pack, with duties. I'm an Inspector for the Beacon Hills nexus. If anything supernatural and bad happens? That's my fault. I have to protect this town like my mother did. Like your mother did. It doesn't mean I love you less. But right now, I have to make sure everyone is safe."

"I felt it," Derek said. "I felt the punches, your emotions. What do you think that means? How do you think I felt?"

"Like shit."

"Exactly. Stiles, we are in this together. You need to trust me not to ruin everything."

"I know."

Derek felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Stiles continued. "I know. And you have to trust me, too."

Stiles sat next to him. Derek jerked when Stiles' hand touched his knee.

"So, what are we staring at."

"A blueberry bush."

"Oh, any special kind of blueberry bush?"

Derek said nothing for a moment. Learn to trust Stiles? Even after the last couple days? He wasn't Scott, deliberately lying. And if he had to admit it—which he would _not—_Stiles was probably right about him leaving to wreck vengence.

"Yes. It's my mom."

Stiles gripped his knee tighter. "But blueberry bushes aren't thorny. Where do you get it from then? Was your dad a rose?"

"Very funny." He almost bristled, but knew that Stiles meant no harm.

"Do you come here a lot?" Stiles leaned in, and Derek wrapped an arm around him.

"Sometimes. I just want to talk to her, have her tell me what to do."

"I do that too. I visit my mom's grave. Even though she never talks to me, it's nice to talk to her."

"You have her memories, though. Don't you?" Derek rested his head against Stiles'. "I would love to have some of my mother's right now."

"I do. Most are useful, some are heartbreaking, and some are just wrong. I have to be careful not to think about my dad too much."

"Oh." Derek rubbed Stiles' back. "Yeah, I can see the cons of that."

They sat for a moment, Derek pretending his mom was standing there: tall, proud. He wanted to see her smile at his choice of a mate. He wanted Stiles to know her, to know his whole family. He felt something stirring deep inside, trying to burst forth. He sucked in a breath and tried to clamp down, but the hot tears escaped.

Wrenched forth, they ran down his checks in rivulets as he shook, almost convulsing with the pain. All the while, Stiles held him, comforted him, shhed and stroked him, letting tears fall.

"I miss them, Stiles. I miss her."

"It's okay, Derek. You are allowed to miss them. I miss my mom everyday. It's okay."

Derek shook and eventually stilled, his head in Stiles' lap, long fingers caressing him and running through his hair.

"They are all here. Mom, Laura, everyone is buried here. I made sure to give them a proper burial after the fire. I couldn't … I couldn't just leave them to anyone. Laura helped me the first time, and here she is buried with the rest of them. I've lost everyone, Stiles. If it weren't for Isaac, Erica and Boyd, I'd be without family."

"You have Peter too. Though he's a bit … crazy."

"I've mourned him too."

"Well, you have me, now, and forever."

A kiss on the head.

"You won't leave me? You won't die or get hurt like everyone else?"

"I'm magic. We are bound together forever, so we'll be together forever, Derek."

Derek snuggled closer to Stiles.

"I love you, Stiles."

"Love you too, Derek."

They sat for some few minutes, Derek staring at the back of the house. The bushes were indistinct as his eyes focused on the rather uncharred side of the building. The warmth from Stiles flowed into him and he just wanted to remember the touch forever, remember this moment.

Stiles shifted and he slowly sat up.

"Sorry, you are not the lightest guy out there. Just so you know, your head weighs a ton. My poor leg is gonna be asleep for a like a week."

"You're supposed to comfort me." Derek turned a pout on Stiles. "For real. I may start crying again."

"Oh my god! Stop!" Stiles flailed his arms about. "Seriously that pout is dangerous. Don't ever anymore with your face—ohmygodforrealstopit."

Derek laughed. "Okay, okay. Fine. But now that I know I have a secret weapon …."

Stiles whimpered. "No, it's not fair of you to use it against me! I'd be a poor hapless victim."

He grinned as wide as he could and twisted to face Stiles and prowled toward him, as if he were in wolf form.

"Ah! Or that! Don't do that either! Oh my god!"

"Too evil?" Derek said, trying to turn down the creep factor.

"Too hot."

Oh good, he thought, plastering the grin back on. Stiles scrambled back a pace but Derek leapt and caught Stiles beneath him.

"You'd better be doing—uh—something with that mouth of yours."

Derek just leaned in, and kissed Stiles for all he was worth. He pressed his boyfriend to the ground, careful not to pin him to hard. Derek's mind narrowed to the mouth and lips and tongue interacting with his.

An insistent hand pressed against his chest and it took him a moment to pull up.

"Not that I don't appreciate your obvious skill and ministrations, but … rocks. Not sexy against my fragile body."

Derek grabbed Stiles and up and twisted them over until he was on his back—no rocks of course—and was pressing Stiles into him instead. Pressing was requisite. Derek needed the strong pressure of contact.

Again, his world narrowed to the heart beat against his and the heat of Stiles' open mouth with he did his best to devour. A sudden pungent odor of ozone warned him. He drew back to watch Stiles for a moment—hoping lightning didn't arc into him like it almost had at the warehouse.

Stiles' eyes shimmered for a moment and the sharp crack of thunder split the air. Stiles looked like he was choking something back, his face scrunched up. Derek kept his eyes transfixed on Stiles. He didn't see any blinding flash of light …. Was he dead?

"Derek …." Stiles managed after a second. His chest was heaving. "We need to do that more often."

"Make out or blow up the neighborhood?" Okay, so not dead. That meant … well, Stiles did say he was good.

Stiles eyes widened and he looked around. "You jerk! I didn't hit anything with lightning this time. I may have just released the energy in another way."

"I agree wholly with your statement. Maybe then the energy releases won't be so … loud."

"Don't like a loud guy, Derek?"

He smiled. "Oh that's no problem. I just don't want _all_ of Beacon Hills to know what we are up to, just fyi."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. But we are SO have more make out times. I don't care if I have to carve through an army of kanimas. You are not allowed to keep you from me."

"Noted, Mr. Stilinski."

Stiles leveled him with a nasty look.

"Okay, fine. Stiles."

"Better. I'm hungry, now. Feed me."

Derek rolled his eyes and pushed Stiles off of him and stood up. "Maybe. Ask nicely."

Stiles, with the grace of a gazelle, rose up. "Mr. Hale, would you please feed me?"

Derek sighed. Was this his lot in life forever?

"Fine. But you are so driving."

Stiles jumped up and down and then tackled Derek. He almost fell, but Stiles' intent seemed to be just to hitch a ride _on_ Derek to the Jeep. How had he been so fully wrapped around Stiles' little finger? When did he stop caring?

No matter. Stiles was his mate, and mates always behaved a bit eccentrically around each other. Perhaps he'd tell Stiles all about his family. He now wanted Stiles to know everything there was to know. Even though it would hurt, and hurt badly, he wanted someone to share in his burden.

* * *

NOTE: Well, I was going to work on this later, but while downloading a game, I finished it up. So yeah. :) Hope you like it! Let me know, send me tumbls and such on tumblr as hbrooks01


	33. Nexus of Power

Stiles was just about to jump in the shower, all steamy warm, when black mist turned into Aelfrick. Thank god he was still wrapped in his towel and had some semblance of decency.

"Uh, Aelfrick. What brings you to my showering chambers."

The man rolled his eyes. He wore his formal robes. So this was some official visit then? Couldn't they pick a better time? Like when he wasn't about to shower?

"Stiles, you have your performance review in ten minutes. Did you forget?"

"Performance review? What they hell are you talking about?"

"You should have received something in the mail, or perhaps something that appeared on your desk. Nothing?"

"Uh, I think I got something from my grandma asking me why I never call her."

Aelfrick looked around. "Uh … nothing on your desk then?"

"I haven't looked at my desk since Gerard left town and the crazy new Alpha wolves moved in. It's possible they are mixed with my school papers. Go look, and I'll shower."

Aelfrick shook his head—whatever that might mean. "You've got 3 minutes." The man disappeared, probably to go snoop around his desk.

Stiles dropped the towel and jumped in the warm shower. He washed and dried himself in record time—thankfully his hair was super short.

He wrapped his towel around his waist and hoped over to his room to see Aelfrick holding a piece of paper in his hand. It looked like part of his Algebra homework.

"Right here."

"Uh, I guess so?" Stiles took the piece of paper and looked at it. Yup Algebra. And there was the scrawl of the meeting date and time. "Well, I guess so."

"Dress in something … nicer that what you normally wear. You'll be meeting with some of the members of the Highest Council."

"Uh, right. Performance review. Great." Stiles scrambled over to his closet and dug around for one of his cleaner plaid shirts. He threw it on the bed and then dug out some underwear and and undershirt and a clean pair of jeans. "Don't be a creeper and watch me."

Aelfrick laughed, turning to look out the window.

Stiles threw his clothing on fast, hoping he'd not miss a button and look absolutely stupid in front of what he assumed would be the highest ranking members of the Highest Council. When he was ready, he coughed twice.

"I suppose you look presentable," Aelfrick said. "Next time we'll have to send a clearer message."

"Yeah."

Aelfrick grabbed Stiles' arm and suddenly he was standing in a large pristine white marble room. Three large boxes, similar to those used by judges rose in the same marble and towered above the rest of the room. Just perfect.

Two older men already sat in the boxes, with just one empty. Stiles had the sinking feeling that was reserved for Aelfrick. Stiles recognized High Councilor Tarenn as one of the members. Shit! He was probably the head dude. Oh damn.

As predicted, Aelfrick moved and misted up to the third chair.

"Inspector Stilinski," Tarenn intoned. "You have been summoned before the Highest Council. You are under review for Beacon Hills and your actions will be discussed."

"Please tell us about your decision to break the Concord in order to aid a subset of the Lower Councils wards." This man was thin, his face pinched. "Well?"

Stiles shook himself. "Rude much? Really who is this guy?"

Aelfrick shook his head slowly. "Answer the question, Inspector."

He had a sinking feeling this was already not going to be pleasant. "Fine. Not my shining moment, but when you want to feel alive, pain is certainly a great place to start. I was hurting and the physical pain erased everything else. Happy?"

Tarenn nodded, and looked like he wrote something down. At least he looked pleasant. This new guy probably had too many lemons in his life. Aelfrick smiled. Shit! Could they read thoughts? Stiles tried to think of nothing, only everything spun through his head all at once.

Aelfrick directed the next question. "The kanima was taken care of successfully. Please describe the steps you took to ensure it would not be a feral threat to the community and to the Higher Council."

Stiles took a breath. Why was his memory so poor? "Well, I did try to use my powers on it to no avail. Working with local werewolves I helped to identify the true identity of the shapeshifter and, with a lot of people and a little bit of luck, influenced people and events as much as magically possible to 'kill' and bring him back as a full werewolf. In short. It took a lot of people to solve this problem."

"Hmm," Aelfrick said.

"Would you care to describe your encounters with your Concomitant?" Tarenn looked down.

"I'd care not to but I'm guessing you'll make me tell you anyway." Stiles shifted to balancing on one foot. He supposed he could summon a chair, maybe. If he really needed one.

"Go on."

Stiles sighed. "Uh, I'm guessing you might be referring to the rather 'electric' nature of the encounters? I mean, Derek is Derek. He's a bit sour, a bit grumpy, reminds me too much of Tardar Sauce, and in general is just as fluffy and adorable as a stuffed animal."

"The electric nature?"

"I'm sure you know my pal, Aelfrick, over there told me I take after my mom. Apparently lightning runs in the family. I didn't know it was going to happen the first time. I just let myself go and bam, suddenly there is char marks and awful noise and I needed new underwear. Oh god, I can't believe I'm even talking about this.

"The second time, less lightning more thunder, new underwear. Nothing will even happen the next time. Swear."

"Very well," Tarenn said.

The seeming interrogation lasted another few rounds—each old man getting their weird odd questions in. Like, "Why did you use no magic when…" or "And what did the stream tell you?" Stiles was just glad when Tarenn stood up. Well, stooped over really.

"It is the decision of this body that you receive your true powers to fulfill your role as the Inspector for Beacon Hills and surrounds. Your performance is well above that of other fledglings who have more intact memories from the predecessors."

"Though you broke the Concord on your own for reasons we deem selfish, you omitted portions of your testimony," the unknown old man said. "You have proven to trust and work with those who need your help."

Aelfrick stood last. "You have grown into your role. We could not have chosen a better Concomitant than who was made for you."

"Welcome," they intoned.

Stiles felt a different weight around him. He looked down to see himself in the same robes as those worn by the older men. And he had no pants on. Okay, that was a little creepy. At least he still had his underwear on.

Aelfrick misted down, while the other two men disappeared. "Grab hold. We need to attune you to your nexus."

"Attune?"

"Yes," the man said.

Stiles was about to move, but Aelfrick grabbed his arm and then they were in the preserve at the site of the nexus. Stiles breathed in the fresh air, and finally felt like he wasn't under attack anymore.

"Trying to attune yourself is not a good idea, though it did allow the defeat of the kanima." Aelfrick half-pushed, half-guided Stiles to the center of the nexus. It was completely awkward. "Your mother did that too many times. If you need another attunement, you'll know how to find me. Once we get this messy process out of the way."

"Messy?" Stiles asked. How messy could it be?

The older man smiled. "No black goo vomit, not to worry. It's just not all that fun. Now, don't move."

Stiles was about to open his mouth, but the raw power of the nexus rushed through his system, making him feel as if he were on fire from the inside out. The heat was so intense Stiles felt almost cold, as if snow kissed his bare skin. Nothing penetrated his senses, overloaded as his brain felt. It was almost as if he could pick out the atoms in his body and examine them.

In what seems hours, and mere seconds, Stiles could see and hear again. His body dragged him down and he slumped against a large rock. Aelfrick kneeled down beside him.

"Feel any different?"

"I … I think so?" Like extensions of his own power, he could feel the rivers leading from and to the nexus as if they were part of him. He could sense everything in Beacon Hills, could find anyone he needed to. He could even feel the new wolves running around. They were strong enough to even challenge the Highest Council. "I can feel it all."

"Good. That means I didn't forget. We haven't attuned anyone in a long time. Not many Inspectors are allowed this much power. You'll be able to draw on the nexus when you need to."

Stiles understood. It was like having all the gunpowder he would need to destroy a world.

"Now," Aelfrick placed his fingers gently on Stiles temple. "You are allowed to come to our place secluded from the rest of the world."

Like a sigh, the knowledge filled his mind. Every corridor, every room, everything from Elysia, the Highest City, was like a close memory. Even the sounds of the Seer scraping in the dark.

"You may come and go as you please, but with our Concord, those belonging to the Lesser Council are not allowed entry."

Stiles nodded. "I think I need to rest."

"It would be advised." Aelfrick stood, and giving Stiles a shallow bow, he disappeared with black mist.

Well, it had certainly been an interesting day. He wondered what his dad thought about him missing after taking a shower. Too late for that. He shifted to his bed, and fell asleep, in his new robes. He could worry about it all later.


	34. Ribs and Reflection

"Stiles, just get in the car." Derek gestured toward the open door.

"No." Stiles stood there, arms crossed. "I told you, that you don't have to open _every_ door for me. Besides, I don't like this new car you have."

"Isaac crashed the Camaro. Please."

"Nope. No way mister."

Derek rolled his eyes, hoping Stiles would comply. His stubborn boyfriend shook his head. Derek thought about just ramming him into the car … but the poor car.

"Fine. You can just stay here then."

Derek slammed the door and ran to the driver's side. He started the car, Stiles moving toward it. Well, if he wasn't going to play by the boyfriend rules, he would walk. Putting the car in gear, Derek pulled away from the curb and started down the street. He laughed at that distinctive squawk of protest.

In a moment, black mist materialized into Stiles. Full of grump face and indignation.

"Serves you right," Derek said. "Next time just get in the damn car."

"How dare you!" Stiles jammed the seat belt into the clip. "You ask me out on a date, and then _drive off without me_. That is the epitome of rude."

Derek raised one eyebrow. "Oh? And refusing to get into a car isn't?"

Stiles sputtered.

"Exactly. Besides, you got your way, and here I am, wondering when I'm going to be appreciated and get my way."

"Whatever. I'm still mad at you." Stiles crossed his arms and stared out the window.

"Good. You're more fun when you're mad." Derek smirked.

"And you do it on purpose," Stiles whined. "Why did it have to be you of all people?"

"Because you need someone to knock you down a peg or thirty."

Stiles gasp. "Rude! So rude!"

"Says the one that loves it when I pay for the dates."

Stiles harrumphed. "I do not."

Derek shook his head, watching for the turn off to the highway.

"So, why didn't you just get another Camaro?" Stiles scratched at his arm. "I mean, that was totally sex on wheels. This is like, 'hey, I'm a mom.'"

"For the way Isaac treats me sometimes, I might as well be his mom." Derek tried to keep from choking over saying something about Boyd and Erica. They had to be alive, somewhere.

"Ugh. Isaac is such a baby sometimes."

Derek snorted.

"So, where are we going?" Stiles asked.

Derek took out a gift card and tossed it over to Stiles.

"Oh. My. GOD! It's Half Rack Night over at The Barbecue Barn!"

"It is. And if there is someone who likes meat more than me, it's you."

"Derek! You are the best!"

Derek grinned. "I know. I even got a reservation. With bibs. Which you will wear, because last time you nearly ruined my favorite shirt."

"But it so comfy and reminds me of you."

"It smelled like barbecue sauce for a month."

Stiles clicked the card against his nails, ever fidgeting. Derek merged onto the highway, almost cut off by a little white car.

"So," Stiles said after a moment. "Who gave this to you?"

"Isaac. As an apology for destroying my car. I think he managed to convince Scott to buy it. I know Isaac has no money of his own."

"True," Stiles said. "That poor kid. I'm surprised Scott said yes."

Derek chuckled. "They've got a total bromance going on."

Pouting, Stiles said, "I'm supposed to be his best bro."

Derek reached over to squeeze Stiles' hand. "I'm sure you are, dearie."

"Thanks," Stiles drawled. Derek could hear the rolling of eyes in that statement.

Derek took a turn off the highway, turning in to The Barbecue Barn's parking lot. Gravel crunched under the weight of the vehicle as he turned. Even without super speed, Stiles was out of the car before Derek could so much as turn the engine off.

"I'm so ready for this." Stiles rubbed his hands together. "You have no idea."

"You'd think you were a creature of the night with that ability to devour all food in sight."

"I'm a growing boy," Stiles said. "I need all the food I can get."

"Or you have a hollow leg. Or something. I swear!"

Stiles turned around and Derek was hit with intense puppy dog eyes. Derek pursed his lips and looked up, annoyed—and avoiding falling for that trap.

"Let's just go inside and gorge ourselves on meat." Derek spoke mainly to the clouds floating above. "And stop with that pouting puppy dog. I'm not going to look at you until you do. I can hear it in your heart beat."

Stiles sighed, heavily. "Fine."

Derek tackled Stiles and pushed him forward toward the dining establishment, his arms draped over Stiles' shoulders.

The Barbecue Barn was a converted barn, meaning tall ceilings and lots of wood. Due to allergies they took out the hay years ago and had peanut shells on the floor instead. The host looked at the pair strangely.

"Two?" he asked. "It's a twenty minute wait."

Derek nodded, resting his head against Stiles'.

"We have a reservation, Derek Hale."

"Oh, just a moment then."

"Gah, you big loon, get off." Stiles unsuccessfully swatted at Derek.

After a few minutes the host beckoned them. Derek slowly unwrapped himself from Stiles and they followed the host toward a booth. Derek motioned for Stiles to get in first.

He squinted at Derek, wary, but sat down. Derek sat across from Stiles. The better to play footsies and gaze into those gorgeous honey-brown eyes.

"For a moment, I thought you'd sit next to me."

Derek grinned. "It's harder to stare at you fling bits of food everywhere. I don't wanna get caught in the eye of the storm that is Stiles eating."

Again the crooked narrowing of his eyes. "Are you saying I'm an uncouth eater?"

"I'm saying that I'd prefer to keep my clothes cleaner. There tends to be a wide spray to either side of you."

"Hmph." Stiles grabbed a menu and pretended to ignore him.

Derek already knew what he was going to get: ribs. Nothing was better than ribs at a barbecue. He didn't even bother to look at the menu.

A waiter came by to take their orders, leaving him there with a somewhat annoyed Stiles. Though Stiles often changed back to a less evil creature after food was promised.

Now that he thought of it, Stiles did seem a bit off. He had smelled different in the car ….

"Stiles," he began, "there is something different about you."

"Is it my more winning smile? My impossible to resist handsome features?"

Derek leveled a look at him. "No. Something about the way you smell. Which is different."

"Different? How so?" Stiles picked at his napkin. "Maybe a new cologne?

He knew something and wasn't going to say.

"You don't wear it." Derek took a long breath. "More punchy of the ozone I think."

"Oh fine!" Stiles huffed. "I had some special binding ceremony to the nexus."

Derek hummed a moment. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Supposed to make me even more super cool."

Derek looked up and smiled. "Except against creepy lizards."

"Except that." Stiles chuckled. "There has to be some reason to keep you around, right?"

He did his best to look absolutely wounded.

"Stop with your face, Derek. No! Gah! It's too much! Fine, fine I recant. There are many and myriad reasons to keep you around."

He laughed. "Someone has been studying vocab."

Stiles sat up straighter. "I make knowledge my mission."

Just then, the waiter came by and dropped of heaping plates of meat, staying a moment to ask if they needed anything else. Derek glared at Stiles until he put on the bib.

He raised one eyebrow at the ferocity in which Stiles showed his helpless dinner. Derek had no more than taken a bite of one rib and his companion had already devoured three. Like he hadn't eaten in months.

"Does your dad even feed you?" he asked.

Mouth full, Stiles answered, "Yeah. Everyday."

Derek shook his head and turned back to his plate, looking up only occasionally to see Stiles' squirreled cheeks. And he thought his own appetite was bad.

Derek was almost half way done when Stiles exhaled loudly. The plate was practically clean.

"Ugh," he moaned. "I'm so full."

"Maybe eat slower?" Derek suggested.

"Old man, you should eat faster." Stiles grinned. "I could probably help you with those ribs. Don't want any to go to waste."

Derek growled just a little bit. Stiles laughed.

"We aren't taking them home, just so you know."

Stiles leapt up and proclaimed he would be going to wash his hands. With luck, his face too.

While Stiles was so occupied, Derek finished and sighed contentedly. He cleaned his hands of the sticky sauce and meat juices on one of the wet clothes provided—Stiles would need to wash his arms too. He grabbed a toothpick to loosen a few of the slivers of meat in his teeth.

Stiles returned, miraculously clean—maybe with the help of magic—and flopped down on the booth. "I can barely move."

"Easier to catch you that way."

"Oh my god! That was your plan all along wasn't it? To overfeed me!"

"No escaping me now," Derek said. "Though I could totally leave you here to pay the bill. Thanks to my fast metabolism, I could probably get away first."

Stiles groaned. "No!"

"Okay fine."

The waiter drifted by and asked if they wanted desert.

"Just the check," Derek said. He wondered what the man thought the relationship was between the two. Not that it really mattered.

Derek paid the bill, listening to Stiles ramble on about some thing or other, though it was impossible to pay attention all the time. When Stiles took a breath, Derek interrupted.

"Ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"To go." Derek nodded his head toward the exit.

"Uh, what's the plan, big guy?"

Derek shrugged. "Nothing is planned. Do you have a plan?"

Stiles twitched his mouth back and forth. "I think I might have an idea. You probably won't like it, though."

"No chains."

Stiles blinked a few times. "Oh. Oh!" He blushed a fierce red. "No, totally does not involve chains. No chains whatsoever."

"Alright. Where are we going?"

"The preserve. The old house. I want to try something."

"And what might this something be?"

"Drive and you'll find out."

Derek scooched out of the booth and stood up. "I'm not sure I like the sounds of that."

Stiles leapt up. "Come on, don't be so sour. You've been doing so well."

Derek glanced over then walked out to the car. Stiles followed him out, and he imagined limbs waving up and down.

"Come on! It won't be bad."

"Very reassuring. Get in." Derek unlocked the doors and plopped down. He wasn't yet used to the new car.

Stiles clambered in. "So. We going?"

"Fine. We'll go."

Stiles would have jumped for joy, he was sure, but strapped in and seated made the motion rather comical.

"All right!"

Stiles was rather quiet after that, fidgeting only a little bit with his hands. Derek could only wonder at what the silence meant. He was certain that Stiles had something random up his sleeve and something he wouldn't really like. Though he didn't like to use his senses to an unfair advantage, he couldn't help but smell the nervousness coming from the passenger seat. Not that he really needed superpowers to know.

It didn't take long to be pulling into the once-driveway and smelling the old familiar burning rot. Stiles gave him a weak smile, as Derek got out of the car. He looked around, wondering what Stiles had in mind. It wasn't as if this was his favorite place to hang out.

"Well?" he prompted.

Stiles held out his hand. "Come on."

Derek followed until he could hold on to Stiles. His hand was cool, and a bit sweaty. Derek wanted to laugh.

Stiles lead him around to the back of the house where all the blueberry bushes shivered in the slight breeze. He stopped in front of the bush that Derek pretended was his mother. What was he playing at?

"I won't do it if you don't want," Stiles said. "I know you never got to say goodbye."

"What?" Derek didn't like where this was going.

"I got to say goodbye to my mother. You never had the chance. I can gift you that."

"How?" He held his breath.

"I won't be doing anything zombie like. It's more a reflection, of her and her memory from you than anything."

"So it's not really her?"

"Yes and no. It isn't but it is." Stiles waved his fingers through the air, but then let them drop. "It's hard to explain."

"So no lumbering dead bodies or weird haunting spirits?"

"Nope, none of that. It's like a mirror. Sort of. She'll still be her, but ugh. I can't really explain it. Shall I share what I know?"

Derek nodded after a moment. Stiles at a loss for words?

Cool fingers lightly touched his temples and then flooded him with warmth, and he understood. At the same time it would be and would not be her, but she would know. Like a calling of personality and awareness from somewhere and himself. He understood the gift. It would take a lot out of his mate.

"Okay." Derek entwined his fingers with Stiles. "Thank you."

Stiles leaned in to kiss Derek lightly on the cheek. "Ready?"

Derek only nodded.

The air felt sucked out of him and he struggled to breathe in the heavy ozone that surrounded him. Derek swore he heard thunder and saw flashes of lightning before his eye. A howling wind buffeted them from behind setting the bushed to dance in a macabre fashion, twisting and screaming in the gale.

As fast as it began it stopped. An older, strong woman draped in a black shawl stood just to the front of the bush. His mother.

Derek fell to his knees, tears unbidden streaming down his face. He'd almost forgotten Stiles, but his mate had been pulled down when he dropped.

"My beautiful boy," she said. Her voice was exactly how he remembered her. She offered him a smile, and bent down to you. "You've grown so much."

"Mom?"

"Oh, baby boy."

"I'm so sorry for everything. I'm so sorry." He couldn't hold in the tears anymore and they cascaded to the dry dirt.

"It is alright." She took his hands. "Who is this boy? This young Inspector?"

He looked down, suddenly embarrassed. But he would not lie anymore. "Stiles. My mate."

She turned to regard Stiles. She nodded, her gazing tracing his features. As if judging his worth.

"Is it so willed?" she asked.

"Foreordained by the Highest Council." Stiles voice was shaky, but he looked up at her, defiant, as if he dared her to denounce their love.

She nodded. "So it is. I wish I could have known you both as you are."

"I'm sorry," Derek said again, willing her to understand. "I didn't know."

"Shh." She massaged his hands, hers cool and smooth. "I know."

"I never got to say goodbye," he whispered. "I wanted to tell you everything."

"Derek." Her voice was soft and her hands less substantial. "I can hear it all on the wind. There is nothing to forgive, for I love you as always, my beautiful boy."

"Goodbye," he said and watched her fade away. "I love you."

He sat back, the sun warm. Had it gone away during the encounter? Stiles crawled up to him and laid his head against Derek's shoulder.

"You look a lot like her," Stiles said. "I wish I could have known her as you do."

"I'll tell you stories, then. And you can tell me of your mother."

Stiles burrowed closer to Derek. "I'm sorry if that hurt."

"Thank you." Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles' waist and pulled him a little closer. With his free hand he wiped away the last of his tears. A hole he did not know he had, filled a little with her words. _There is nothing to forgive. I love you. _It was enough for now to have Stiles by his side. It would be enough.


	35. Awkward Dinners

It took a full week before Stiles had the courage to approach Derek after meeting his boyfriend's mom. He wanted to make sure Derek had time to process everything. And, stupidly, he had finals he'd just finished. Thank god it was summer break and he could avoid worrying about school on top of his crazy magical life.

He'd conferred with Aelfrick after searching all the memories he could. He wanted to perform in the Binding of Concomitants with Derek. Today, if possible.

"Are you sure?" Aelfrick had said, in his usual bland tone.

"Of course. He's not going to magically become _not_ my Concomitant. Right?"

"It is ordained," Aelfrick commented. "So I highly doubt it possible."

"Tell me what I need to know."

And so Aelfrick had told him and then left. Stiles was pacing in his room, when his dad knocked gently on the frame. Stiles flopped onto his chair and stared.

"Did good on your finals?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Should get all A's again."

"Good to hear." The sheriff turned to go, but stopped. "You doing okay? I haven't seen you around much or seen Scott either."

"Yeah, I'm okay. Guess I made a few new friends."

His dad smiled. "Hope they are as trustworthy as Scott."

Stiles smiled. Well, Derek might not be as trustworthy, but he was definitely hotter. Much hotter. Mmm, Derek.

"Well, come down for dinner in a bit."

"Okay, dad."

Stiles fidgeted for a moment. He picked his phone and twirled it for a minute before finally texting Derek.

-hey. you busy tonight? S.

-no. what's up? D.

-just wondering if you wanted to meet up. S.

-sure. now? D.

-gonna eat with dad. he's given me the guilt trip. S.

-okay. well let me know when. isaac and I are out looking for boyd and erica. D.

-:( hope you get some leads then. S.

-me too. D.

-kk text you in a bit big guy. S.

Stiles walked downstairs to the kitchen—trying to figure out what his dad had cooked for dinner. He couldn't place it.

"Hey, daddy-o. What's cooking?" He tried to glimpse around his father.

"Spaghetti."

Stiles laughed. "Well, I guess it's good."

"What are you laughing about?"

"It's the best dish you have. Are you in trouble? Have you been eating bad?"

His dad raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one going to The Barbecue Barn with strange men."

"True. Wait, what? Strange men?"

"Patty said she saw you there with, hmm, 'a tall dark fellow, broody, looked familiar.' Then she remembered it was this Derek Hale person, which, if I recall, you had me wrongfully arrest."

"Uh. Oops?"

"So tell me why you were with him."

The timer went off and his dad bustled about the kitchen while Stiles set the table. There was nothing he could really do short of disappearing to avoid this conversation. In a moment, spaghetti was heaped on his plate.

"What is your answer?" his dad asked. "And don't be cute about it."

"Uh. Um. We are sort of dating?"

"Dating!" His dad let the pasta hang in the air a moment before eating it. "What do you mean dating. You aren't even friends with him."

"Well, I _did _meet him through Scott." Scott's name was like a talismen of purity around his dad. Mostly because Stiles was the troublemaker, according to his father.

"So he's Scott's friend."

"Sort of."

"Sort of? You're digging yourself deeper. Eat."

"Okay." Stiles started eating, his food mostly untouched up to now. Ugh. Why did he have to have this conversation?

"Talk."

"I can't do both at the same time!" he said, after swallowing.

"I know for a fact you can. It's disgusting, but you do it all the time."

"Okay."

"How long have you know this … Derek person?"

"Since the body in the woods, about. He's a nice guy."

"Nice? He looks like a murderer. I even agreed with you on that."

"I guess. He's just the cutest sour face ever."

"Okay," his dad said. "That's disgusting. He's also way older than you. And you're in high school. Do I need to arrest him?"

"Uh, no? That wouldn't be a good thing."

An arched eyebrow was his response.

"What? God knows I've wanted to, but he's just not ready yet."

"He's not ready?" The sheriff took a gulp of water. "But you, my barely sixteen year old son is ready?"

"Oh please. Can I wake up yet?" Stiles pleaded. "Please?"

"No such luck."

"Oh god. This will go down as the most awkward moment in the history of forever."

"So, if you haven't had … sex, then why is he …?"

"We are dating each other. And because I love him. And his stupid ridiculous face."

"Love?"

"Yeah. He's the most adorable thing ever. And also a stupid head." Stiles punctuated his statement with an attack on his dinner.

"I want to talk to him. He deserves to know how much of a shit-head you can be."

Stiles said nothing.

"So, he already knows."

"Maybe?"

"Good," his dad said. "That saves one conversation. Now, I just need to bring him over for another about how he better not harm you. And thank god someone else can watch out for you."

"What?" Stiles said.

"It's fine date him, whatever. But I want to know about your activities and I want to meet him. Even if it's at the station, at his … wherever he lives, or something. Because I want to judge if he's worthy."

"Alright, got it."

"Good, now I want his cell phone number."

"Uh … okay fine." Stiles grabbed the grocery list and pen and copied it out from his phone.

"Good."

Stiles finished his food with no more interruptions from his dad. Thank goodness. He didn't want to hear anything more of what his dad had to say. Awkward conversations were always awkward.

He stood up with his empty plate in hand and took his dad's as well to wash them and put them in the dishwasher.

"What's all this for?" his dad asked. "Cleaning up?"

Stiles shrugged. "Because?"

"Hmm. Okay. Well, I have to run into the station for a couple hours to take care of paperwork. You'd think I was a bureaucrat and not an officer of the law with the amount I have to do."

"Alright. Well, I don't think I'm going anywhere important." He took the stairs two at a time and flopped on his bed, his phone in hand.

-Dad found out. S.

-About what? D.

-not the ww stuff, just us. :-/ S.

-shit. you okay? D.

-yeah. I'm fine. just … he wants to meet you, is all. S.

-as in like meet meet? meet and murder? I'm too pretty to die. D.

-hey! that's my line. he wasn't super upset, thank god. but he does want to meet you. like soon. like soon soon. S.

-bad? good? should I bring isaac along for protection? D.

-you should be fine. he just wants to 'make sure you are worthy' or something. and that you can now babysit me or something equally ridic. S.

-bahahaha. alright, alright. sounds fair enough. did he ask all the awkward? D.

-all of it. it was horrible. :( S.

-poor baby. so what's up? ready to meet? D.

-yeah. I'm kinda nervous though. S.

-why? D.

-just cuz. S.

-no magic dead parents today. D.

-no, not that. dad is going to the station. can I pop over? S.

-mm better not. Isaac is packing some stuff up. decided we needed a new place. I'll meet you at the house? or park? D.

-park is good. say 15 min? S.

-yeah. :) D.

-see you then. S.

Stiles rolled over, watched the ceiling, and listened to the soft patter of his dad moving around downstairs, then soft footfalls up the stairs. Stiles played in his mind what he would say to Derek. The binding ceremony was nothing except serious, and he had never felt so young before.

"Stiles?"

"Hey dad."

"I'm going to take off. I'll see you in a couple hours. Alright?"

"Alright. Tell everyone I say hi."

His dad smiled, like he had so many months ago before Scott was bitten. "Okay. Call me if you need anything."

"Okay."

Stiles listened to the creak of the steps, the soft click of the front door closing, the purr of the cruiser coming to life, and the scrape of metal on concrete. He waiting a bit, tapping into the nexus to keep a touch on his dad's whereabouts. Then, he pulled himself along the nexus to the park where Derek would be waiting.

He saw a shadowy figure sitting on a rock.

"Derek?" he said, quietly.

The figured turned around. "Stiles. So what's up?"

He was suddenly surrounded by werewolf arms.

"Hey, hey." Stiles hugged Derek back. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

He felt Derek's mouth curl up against his cheek.

"Would you marry me, Derek?" Stiles' hands clutched the thin fabric of Derek's tee.

Derek's chest expanded, strong. "Yes, of course. Why, what's up?"

"Well, I … I don't know to say it."

"Stiles, say what?" Derek's hands rubbed gentle circles against his back. "You can say anything."

"I know you said no dead parents. But what about basically a magic marriage ceremony? Just the two of us. Right here, right now."

"What?" Derek's voice was soft.

Stiles pulled Derek closer. "Nothing much that isn't there already. It's called the Binding of Concomitants. It's a solidification of the bond already there and a strengthening of each of our powers."

"Magic marriage? Will it hurt you? Will it take long?"

"I'll be fine. It's simple enough. I already have permission to perform it."

"So like ten or twenty minutes?"

"Something like that," Stiles said.

"Alright."

He took a deep breath and stepped back, grabbing hold of Derek's hands. "Tonight?"

Derek nodded. "I think I'm ready. What do I have to do?"

"Love me." Stiles' heart raced and he knew Derek could hear it pounding against his chest.

"I already do, silly. Let's do it."

Stiles opened himself up to the nexus, opened himself up to the thin connection to Derek. He pulled all the power he could gather to himself.

Though his veins burned white-hot, he was not in pain. The magic was his, the ceremony his. He stilled the wind, stilled the air and spoke the words Aelfrick had taught him.

"I, of the Highest Council, consent to this bond of Concomitants, with all my heart."

He reached out a hand to Derek. He could barely feel the skin under the torrent of power.

"Do you consent, of the Lower Council, to this bond of Concomitants?"

"With all my heart, I consent."

Stiles exhaled.

"Then with the power of the Highest Council, the font of all power, I declare this bond active."

Stiles touched the tendrils between them lightly, then poured all the power he knew Derek could handle, and drew it forth—like a circuit he strengthened the bond between them. They would be together forever: in life, death, even oblivion.

He let the magic of the nexus seep away slowly. Derek eyes were blood red, fur grown, and he watched Stiles' face. But he wasn't done. Not yet.

"One last thing," he said, grinning. "For tradition."

Derek's hair receded, but his eyes remained red. He nodded.

Stiles let go of Derek's hands, and extended his arms out, palm up. He pulled dirt into the air, his magic beating in time to his pulse. Adding magic, he turned the dirt into perfect golden rings. One for him, one for Derek. He smirked at the special magic twist him.

He let the rings drop, warm, into his hands. He could feel Derek's presence like a beacon. He could find Derek anywhere in the world. Anywhere, no matter what. And Derek was afforded the same. Given a boon by the Highest Council in the ceremony—a tiny touch of magic through Stiles.

"With this ring, I thee wed," Stiles whispered, and slipped the ring on Derek's finger. He gave the other to Derek.

"With this ring, I thee wed." Derek's voice was husky and hoarse. Stiles almost melted to hear the words.

He stared into Derek's eyes, which had just begun to return to normal.

"It's not legal." Derek spoke softly.

"I know." Stiles stepped into Derek's space. "But it doesn't matter. I have you forever."

"No, I have you forever."

Stiles buried his smile in Derek's chest.

He reminded there, feeling content to the rise and fall of Derek's chest and his strong arms around him.

"Mind if we sit?" Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. "No, it's fine."

Moving to a bench, Derek kept an arm on Stiles.

"So, this is what it feels like? Like the stars are inside you?"

Stiles nodded, his gaze drawn to the heavens. "It's a boon from the Highest Council. Probably won't do anything or anything good, but it's there."

"It feels like you are next to me. No matter where I turn."

Stiles grinned. "The same for me."

Derek extended his hand. "So, rings out of thin air?"

"Magic rings," Stiles corrected. "I know that might be sudden for us, so they are invisible to everyone but you and I. And don't worry, it won't slip off, unless you really want to take it off."

Derek nodded. "Sounds useful."

"Derek, I just … I can't imagine my life without you. I want to be with you forever. I want to shout from the mountain tops."

"Really, Stiles? Mountain tops? But, you know, I love you too."

Stiles leaned in, placing a hand on Derek's thick shoulder, and kissed him. Sparks danced in his vision, fires flared inside. It was glorious.

Derek gasped for breath, his eyes an intense red. "Holy mother of goddamn! Is this what it's like?"

Stiles giggled. "Yeah. It's crazy isn't it."

"Fuck."

Stiles pressed his lips to Derek again, feeling his pulse jump. The fire roared in approval, and Stiles could only continue to kiss Derek, to lose his sense of self in the man that was now tied to him. In moments, the burning settled to warmth in his belly.

Stiles drew on Derek's lips with his teeth, now straddled across the older man's lap. Derek's hands roamed freely across his back, pulling and clutching alternately.

Breaking from the kiss, Stiles mouthed his way across stubble to Derek's neck, salty skin in his lips and teeth, grunts and moans rumbling from the chest he was plastered against. Stiles found a particular spot that elicited a sensuous gasp from Derek, and a delicious hardening underneath him. Stiles noted that for further exploration and nipped once more before exploring down to the collarbone. Derek's breath came rapidly, and Stiles grinned when he twitched, exhalation hot up his own neck.

"Fuck. Stiles. Holy shit!"

"Mmm," he said. "Like it?"

"Never happened before." Derek's breath slowed. "Never experienced that. Fuck."

"Let's do it again," Stiles said, roughing his hands up and down Derek's sculpted chest.

"Mmm, I like the idea of that." Derek leaned up to capture Stiles' mouth.

Stiles gave into the pleasure, the sheer heat burning him through and through.

An alarm bothered him though. Something was happening in the nexus, something he was supposed to keep an eye on? It was moving rapidly … FUCK!

"Shit! Derek," Stiles gasped. "I have to go. My dad will be home in a few minutes. He left the station. Shit!"

Derek let go quickly. "I'll see you soon right? I don't want to have to wait a week to see you."

"Yes. I'll text or call you." Stiles took a deep breath. "Love you, Derek."

"Love you."

Stiles kissed Derek one last time before misting to his bedroom. He lay on his bed, the memory and heat of Derek still lingering like scent. He couldn't keep the silly grin from his face.

"Stiles you up? Stiles? I'm back."

"In my room," Stiles called out. His voice was still thick with passion. He cleared his throat. "Just up here thinking. Probably gonna shower and go to bed."

His dad poked his head in his room. "It is getting late for a school night."

"Dad," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "School is over."

"I know. Just saying you're used to it. I'll see you in the morning."

"See you in the morning, dad."

"Right." His dad walked away, turning the lights in the halls off.

Stiles checked his watch: ten after eleven. He didn't shower, instead he laid there, thinking and dreaming of Derek. Next time … next time there would be no interruptions. He fell asleep, mind full of the beautiful naughty things he could do with his boyfriend/pretty much husband. His dreams starred a certain sourwolf who was no longer sour.


End file.
